Beauty and the Beast
by ihaveaddimsorry
Summary: Bella the Beauty and Edward the Beast meet under unfavorable circumstances, how can they live with eachother? Ft. all Cullens, some others. Lots of kids, older characters . AU, AH, slight OOC. First FF story! Lots of anger & tears. Darkward, if you will.
1. Prologue, Beast & The Beginning, Beauty

**Hi, I'm Nina :)**  
><strong>This is my first story on Fanfiction ever, though I've been reading and reviewing religiously for years!<strong>  
><strong>I'm so excited to get this out there to whoever is interested!<strong>  
><strong>Well, the backstory for Beauty and the Beast is pretty simple: I have always loved this story (I was Belle for Halloween for like 5 years in a row!) and I also, of course, love Twilight. I started writing this with characters named Damon and Serena (VPD and GG... not very creative, don't judge!) but everyone kind of took on the personalities and looks of Edward, Bella, Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie, Emmett, Alice, Jasper, Angela, James, etc. so I kind of went with it.<strong>  
><strong>I hope I'm just being humble in saying "this story is going to not be any good" and you disagree!<strong>  
><strong>But just a warning here: I don't have any "beta" yet (still not exactly sure what that is... I'm new here, remember?) so there's probably a ton of mistakes though I am usually pretty good at not letting there be. Also, there will be A LOT of characters to keep up with. Seriously. I know it's easy for me to keep track of, but it might not be for everybody. In this chapter, however, there's only a few (didn't want to overwhelm you on Chapter One!).<strong>  
><strong>Anyways, without further ado (read: I'll shut up now), here is the prologue and first chapter of my Twilight themed Beauty and the Beast!<strong>

* * *

><p>Chapter 1<p>

Beast & Beauty

Prologue & The Beginning of the Rest of My Life

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

It's cold, everywhere. Almost everywhere. The snow is cuddled up against the many windows of my mansion and it chills the inside to the bone. Crying can be heard from every single room of the house; the place is filled with tears, like ice. The cold heart of my once-brother is no longer beating, the evidence on my hands and clothes. It too, is cold. Everything is cold. Everything except my heart, which is on fire and still beating only for her, only for my love.

**Beauty**

"Happy birthday, sweet girl." my father whimpers out, his first phrase without an accompanying cough in weeks. His eyes are closed, as if in concentration and his whole body is still, aside from the rough breaths he desperately gasps for that lift his back in inch off the bed. He is so sick, that at this point I know he is stealing from death with every breath, every slow beat of his weak heart. I thank whatever God is watching for keeping him here for one last day, my sixteenth birthday.

"Thank you, Daddy." his hand twitches in both of mine so I squeeze it to let him know that I acknowledge the effort. I lean over from my chair next to his head to kiss his cheek. His skin is too pale, nearly blue, and it's damp and cold. The wet rag on his forehead is dripping onto the pillow around his head, as if it's already mourning my loss.

Our home is quiet, all except for his rough gasps and my sniffles accompanying my silent tears. My father's been bedridden for weeks so he doesn't know I've sold all our even remotely valuable belongings and cleared out the house. The wicked witch of our landlord Velma has been knocking on the door daily, reminding me that I only have a month, a week, three days, one, to move out, so she can rent my childhood home to another family. Try as I might, I couldn't scrounge up enough money selling the last of my things to afford one more payment. My father, however, has been none the wiser, and it comforts me not see him less worried than he could be. I know that he still does worry, though.

"Daddy, I hope you're not scared." I begin a familiar monologue. "You know I'll be alright. I've got money from when I worked at the bookstore last summer"–spent every cent on medicine for him that didn't help anyways–"and my friends have rooms cleared at all their houses"–until I refused to watch participate in their animal cruelty games–"so I've got plenty money, places to stay... I'm going to be alright, Daddy. You really don't have to worry about me at all." I lied straight through. I hope God understands the circumstantial sinning; I'd hate for my father to be in anything but peace when the Lord takes him home.

"I hate to" a crackling cough interrupts his weak reply "leave you alone." He finishes his sentence with a pant, his eyes still closed.

I never had any brothers or sisters. My mother Renee had left when I was just a baby and my father never remarried. It was always just me and my daddy, it's all we've ever needed. We never even dreamed that he would be on his deathbed before I was a parent myself.

"I won't be alone. I have plenty of friends, and Jack too. And I know you'll be watching over me, won't you be? You'll keep me safe. Please," I plead, a steady stream of tears falling down my face, "be in peace."

The birds begin to sing outside and the first few rays of sunlight streak through the murky windows. Beginning of the day, end of my father's life... I try not to dwell on it.

My father's eye flutter open, a soulful brown that mirrors my own. His handsome features are bathed in the sunlight, making him–to my eyes, at least–look healthier than I've seen in months.

His left hand, right still grasped tightly in both of mine, hesitantly ruses up to my face. I press my cheek into his hand and he wipes my tear with his thumb. The strength is remarkable, and I sense that he is using up the last of his stored energy.

He heavily signs and closes his eyes again, dropping his hand back over his concave stomach.

"My kind, precious, beautiful daughter. Don't let the ugly world fool you into blindness from the hidden beauty within. Keep being yourself, my girl, and not a worry will come your way." His lips barely move, but his voice is somehow clear and strong. "I love you, Bella," he pronounces "my sweet, sweet baby girl."

"I love you too, Daddy." I close my eyes and tuck my face into his shoulder. I hear the terrible stammer of a gasp and, with that, his whole body finally relaxes onto the bed.

The birds have stopped chirping. The only sounds now are my powerful sobs echoing on the house's thin walls, now really alone.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm not going to be one of those annoying "PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW OR I'LL DIE AND NEVER UPDATE, YOU ARE ALL MY BITCHES!" people, but if you want to tell me what you think, please be my guest! (See what I did there? "Be my guest!")<strong>  
><strong>Thanks for reading :)<strong>


	2. The Godfather, Beast

**Hi! I have been so excited to post Chapter 2, which is completely Edward (Beast)'s point of view.  
>In this chapter you meet some important characters: You get to glance at Edward's library (if only for a moment, still an important character in itself!), Emmett, Angela and her kids Layla and Michael (not very dominant in this particular chapter, but you still get to meet him!), and Alice and her son Jordan (where's Jasper? Who is Angela married to? You'll find out eventually!)<br>If I don't make this clear: Angela and Alice are in their late 20s/early 30s. Edward is 24. Layla is 4, Michael is 9, Jordan is 6.  
>And Nina is 18 :b<br>Anyways, hope you enjoy Chapter 2!**

* * *

><p>Chapter 2<p>

The Godfather

Beast

"Uncle Edward!" I hear a sweet voice squeal from across the house. "Uncle Edward, heeeeeeelp!"

I'd be alarmed if it weren't for the giggles that soon followed.

I set down the thick book I had been breezing through and blow out the candle on the table next to my chair. The room is now lit now by just the early morning sun through the skylight above my head.

I exit my library, closing and locking the door. My bedroom, straight across the hall from my sister Angela's room, makes my niece's shouting amplified. My head pounds, though if I acknowledge it that means I'd acknowledge that I drank myself to sleep last night, like every night. And I'm not a damn alcoholic.

"Uncle Edward!" my goddaughter begs.

I shove open Angela's bedroom door to find my sister and her son attacking Layla, tears running down her face, laughing so hard she's gasping for air.

Never in a playful enough mood, I extract her from the family ambush with one big hand and toss Layla's tiny frame over my shoulder. My sister rolls her eyes at me, as if to say "why does she like you so much, you grump?" and lays on her single twin bed with her son, my godson Michael, trying to catch their breaths.

Layla giggles more as I tow her to my bedroom, flopping her on my giant bed so she bounces. Her blond curls twitch around her face.

"Uncle Edward," she hiccups, "can we play?". Her blue eyes get wide and she flutters her thick lashes. Knows how to play me, just like her mother. My sister could be such a manipulative bitch, getting me to do whatever she wants me to with just a sweet glance.

"Of course. Want to draw or color?" I try to come up with other 4-year-old friendly activities and fail. Coloring would have to suffice. I reach for the pink princess toy box at the top of my dresser and slide it towards me.

"No, Uncle Edward. No coloring." she's now standing on my bed, alarmingly tiny for her age, like her Aunt Alice. She puts her hands on her hips and pursed her lips, looking more like Alice's daughter than Angela. I stopped grabbing at the toy box and went to stand in front of her.

"I don't have any other things for you to do, Layla. Do you want to play in the playroom with your cousins?" I reach out to hold her and she swats my arm away with a tiny hand, immediately placing to back on her hip.

"What do you play?" her eyes wonder around my relatively bare room for a moment before she hops off my bed and starts off toward my locked night stand. I crash onto my bed and decide to let her explore. Anything too inappropriate is locked tight in drawers, the keys in my sweat pants pocket.

I hear her tugging at the drawers and "hmph"-ing, and I smile. I can't imagine what she would think of me if she got her hands on my porn and lotion.

"Layla!" my brother Emmett booms from down the hallway, immediately followed by an angry "shh!" from my sister Jane, who lets her kids sleep in however long they want.

Layla reaches her arms out to me to be held from the floor. By the time I twist enough to pull her above me and plop her onto my hard stomach, my brother is already at my door. Layla continues to pout, grabbing onto my shirt with a weirdly powerful grip.

"Layla, Nana wants your help with organizing clothes for the baby," his wife is pregnant, making her and him the big shit of the day in the house, "Aunt Rose went to work"–in an office still physically inside the house–"and Nana wants to surprise her." Emmett walks up and tries to pry his niece off me, but instead of complying, she buries her head into my armpit. It's a wonder to everyone in the house why she likes me so much, and it's visible in their expressions, like Emmett's, when she clings to me.

After a second, she pops her head back out and crinkles her nose. "Uncle Edward smells." she declares, and lets Emmett finally pick her up. "Go take a bath!" she orders as she is carried down the hallway.

My brother and niece's giggles carry down the stairs and are drowned out by the calls of my sister Alice, one of the three women of the five in the house that speak to me (one of them being my mother).

"Edward!" Alice calls again, ignoring Jane's frantic shushing. Her sneakers squeak on the hardwood floors of the hallway, before coming to a stop in my doorway, her son Jordan on her hip.

"You ready to go?" My mother has been trying to get her to stop carrying Jordan like that, claiming that 6 is too old to be carried like an infant. But, like every other Cullen woman, she's too stubborn to quit.

She walks into my room like she owns the place and stands at the foot of my bed, staring down at me.

I ignore her, looking to my other godson. "Hey, Jordan. Are you going with us today?" I ask. Sometimes he sits in his stroller while Alice or I push him, or he rides his scooter next to us when we do our daily jog around my property. It takes a little over an hour, so sometimes Jordan opts to stay home and play with his cousins.

He nods at me and lays his head on his mother's shoulder. It's 8am and, like me, Jordan isn't much of a morning person.

I look down at my gray sweat pants and ratty black tee shirt; the very shirt that apparently smells. I spot my running shoes next to my door and my socks on top of my hamper. My mother must have put my clean laundry in my room this morning before I got up. She is a morning person.

"Well?" Alice takes a seat on the bed next to me, adjusting her son on to her lap. He crawls onto my chest where Layla was minutes before.

"Give me a minute," I say, "Is there coffee downstairs?". Of course there is, like every morning. I'm just hoping she'll offer to bring me up some.

"Edward, you're so transparent." she rolls her eyes and grins, leaving Jordan with me, and prances out of my room and down the hallway. Definitely already had her daily caffeine fix. Though with Alice, her natural childish energy is enough energy for one person.

I get up and pull on my socks, and stand up to go pick up my sneakers, when Jordan speaks.

"Your shirt has a hole in it." he declares. His soft voice would have been inaudible if I weren't paying attention. My godson hardly ever speaks, only on rare daily occasions. Such a shy kid. I was the same way as a child, my mother says. I can only pray his fate isn't as damned as my own.

"Yeah?" I look down my front and notice the threadbare details. I pull it off over my head and toss it across the room, leaning down to find another in the pile of cleanish clothes at my feet. "Thanks, bud. How's this one?" I extract a plain red tee, sniffing it discreetly before holding it up to Jordan. He nods, looking back down at his lap, sitting on my unmade bed.

I start to tie up my sneakers and look up to see Jordan passed out on top of my sheets, snoring softly.

I make my way into my bathroom, hidden in the back of my room. The mirror, cracked from where I had punched it on my 21st birthday 3 years ago, breaking my right hand, mocks me, my already ugly reflection even more distorted by the uneven shards.

Aside from my horrid face, my chest and arms are as sculpted as could be. My hair–longer than my sisters Alice and Jane's–hangs in a weird bronze-ish clump down my back.

My hair brush stares at me from its place near my sink. I pick it up and attempt to tug it through my mane of uncooperative hair. The knots trap the brush.

I hate my goddamn hair. If I wasn't trying to hard to shield my face from the stares of my family, I'd shave my whole fucking head. Its only positive effect, besides being a built-in facial shield, is it's attention from my nieces. Layla and Cate could really love on my hair for hours.

After my mane is sufficiently tamed, I grab a loose hair tie and pivot away from the mirror, pulling it back into a low hanging pony tail.

I can't help but run my hands over my face, feeling the long, raised lines of my jagged scars. My cheeks, chin, eyebrow... my fingers can't escape the harsh markings of my past. And neither can I.

My fingers grasp the first think that they touch and chuck it towards my tiled wall above my master bath tub. The loud pang echos through the house and Jordan lets out a single frightened gasp.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, denying myself the sip of scotch that my body is begging me for. Once I compose myself enough to go back into my room, I notice Jordan standing by the bathroom door, eyes wide open, staring at me.

I pray that he just got there, and didn't witness my outburst.

Before I could question him as to how much he's seen, Alice skips into my room with a to-go cup of coffee. I know that she must have heard the pang if she had been this close a few moments ago, but I see no accusation in her eyes and she hands me the cup and lifts her son up to her hip.

"It's probably going to rain soon, Edward," she turns around and starts toward the bedroom door, "so we've got to go now or we'll get stuck in it." She doesn't look back over her shoulder as she goes down the hallway and down the stairs, expecting me to follow. I wait until she's out of my immediate hearing range and punch the wall by my bed–padded, thanks to the thoughtfulness of Esme–and sigh at the unsatisfying muted thud. My fist minimally thuds, but I flex it and go downstairs for my morning run anyways, coffee forgotten on my nightstand.

* * *

><p><strong>So... hit or miss? I have up to Chapter 6 written already, but is there anything you wanted to get the backstoryspecifics on that I haven't made clear enough?  
>Layla, Michael and Jordan are Edward's godchildren and niecenephews. He has 3 other niece/nephews that haven't been introduced yet, but they aren't Edward's number one fan, and neither are their parents. Uh oh! Why are they all living in the house together? Why does Edward own it, not Esme and Carlisle? Stay tuned :)  
><strong>


	3. Betrayed by Mother Nature, Beauty

**Three chapters in three days! Don't get too used to it, I have school!  
>Actually, I have classes from 7-noon weekdays and I don't start work till like next week, so a chapter a day is a slight possibility.<br>In this chapter you get to meet Jack, Bella's cat! I want a Bengal cat so bad, but they intimidate me.  
>I hope you like it!<br>**

* * *

><p>Chapter 3<p>

Betrayed By Mother Nature

Beauty

* * *

><p>I found myself somehow walking on an unmarked path, my Bengal cat Jack on a leash beside me, and a single bag of things strung across my chest, resting on my hip. The sky, a clear cloudless blue just hours before, was now beginning to get smothered by a thick blanket of white. The wind has picked up, and Jack's ears are on end. I pray that it doesn't rain.<p>

I risk a paranoid glance behind me–nothing but indistinguishable trees. No town in my sight, no visible footsteps, no road, no ax murderer... I'm completely alone.

Jack tugs on his leash, as if to remind me that I'm not, in fact, totally alone. He starts to paw into the ground by a mossy tree, and I turn my back to let him do his business.

I hear scratching and a growl-type noise emitted from the cat. "Naturally." I mumble, turning to see Jack mauling an abnormally large lizard.

He lays down and begins gnawing on it, so I decide to take a break. I pull back the denim flap on my messenger bag and dig around until I find what I'm looking for. My book, the only one I brought. My copy of "Wuthering Heights" is nearly destroyed. Its pages are yellowed and creased due to the many times I've hastily dog-eared my spot. My hands pull open the book to a random page and I begin to read; I know the story so well that it only takes me a few paragraphs to pick up the story.

The wind picks up even more, fluttering my pages. I look up to see Jack beginning to doze off. I tug on his leash, wrapped around my left wrist, to get him to come lay nearer to me. I pull out a thin blanket I packed and lay it over us when he's situated in my lap, and pick up my book again.

My father always poked fun at the way I read. I hum, I gasp, I cry, and sometimes I get to relaxed into the story that I fall asleep. My favorite story as a child was Alice in Wonderland.

I feel the wet shocks before I hear the loud clap of thunder. Jack jolts up from my lap, a bunch of fur under the blue blanket. My book is face-down on the dirt-covered grass. More rain drops fall from the somehow now-gray sky.

My back is scraped up from leaning back against the rough bark of a tree. I feel the scratches sting as I move around, tossing my book and blanket into my bag.

Jack stretches at my feet and claws my bare leg. My brown boots and denim shorts do little to deter his frantic assault.

"Jack!" I scold "Stop it!" I kick my legs but he continues. Bad weather always sets him on a bad behavior kick. My legs start to redden and bleed from the sharp scratches.

Jack cuddles into my chest when I pick him up and start to walk down the path further into the woods.

The tree do little to block the harsh pelting of the rain. The only lights I have to go on to find my way are the sporadic blasts of crackling lightning.

I hadn't expected it to rain. The sky was a clear promising teal at 6 this morning, and it didn't show signs of changing.

Of course, I hadn't expected to fall asleep on the dirty forest floor either. I probably would have seen the sky darken, had I been awake.

My closest neighbors to my ex-home, a group of older teenage boys only led by an alcoholic mother, located about a half mile away from the property I lived on for 16 years, had promised me that I would find a home on the other side of the forest that was desperately in need of a live-in servant. I have been cleaning and housekeeping my whole life, and now that I found myself homeless, it seemed like a great idea when I set off with Jack to find this place.

However, I'm starting go think those boys were just lying to me. Even if they weren't, and there is someone willing to hire me at the other end of this forest, I don't know how deep this forest is. Am I just a fraction of the way in? Or am I approaching a reprieve from the trees?

Still holding on to a very on-edge cat, and toting a pretty heavy bag, in the pouring rain, I decided to say a quick mental prayer as I continued to try to navigate my way through the wet and dark land,

Before I can even begin my prayer with a mental "Dear God", the prayer is answered. Up ahead, I spot a clearing of trees, and a mansion with a tall tower behind it. Lights flicker from inside.

My feet find hidden energy that I thought I didn't have and carry me to the front gate.

I set Jack down on the ground beside me and wipe up my now-dried bloody leg with my black shirt's long sleeve.

I shiver from the rain, wind and cold as I tie up Jack's leash on the fence surrounding the massive property. The gates open from just a light shove, so I tug him to the inside of the gate and close it behind me.

I crouch down, trying to catch my cat's eye, but he lays down in a heap and closes them. "Behave." I command. I pat his head and pivot around, following the gravel driveway up to the tall black doors with two intricate lion knockers.

I try to ignore the feeling of impending doom, and the overall creepy feel of the place.

It takes me a few moments to collect myself enough to bring my hand up to the knockers, but before I can even take hold, the big door opens.

* * *

><p><strong>So...?<br>Relatively short chapter, I know. Next chapter is back to the Beast's point-of-view, running with Alice and Jordan!  
>Any questions or anything so far? I hope I portrayed this as clearly in writing as it is in my head!<br>I kind of have been skipping the intense descriptions of these characters because, chances are, you already know what they look like. Aside from Alice's shoulder-length hair (oops, I'll mention that in the next chapter!) and Edward's long hair (I mentioned that already, didn't I?), that is.  
><strong>

**Thank you to everyone who's been putting this story on alert and adding it to their favorites, and reviewing! You guys make me so happy!**

**-Nina  
><strong>


	4. Running, Beast

**Hi guys! Four chapters in 4 days, what? I'm mostly through chapter 7 right now and it's getting pretty good if I do say so myself! In this chapter our Beast freaks out on Alice, and Jordan bares witness. Poor guy. But, like his daddy (Jasper, duh) he's a quiet, observant little thing. All I have left to say is: Alice, cool your shit! (Yes, I blame Alice in this chapter. I might be a bit biased though.) **

**Hope you enjoy! Drop me a message or review or something if you're feeling generous! It makes me so happy when you review (to Bildo & Yummy Dummy, my only 2 reviewers so far!) and I have like a billion hits on this story (300-something, actually, same thing) so I know others are on here and not reviewing... but I'll let you live! :b**

**Try not to hate Edward (or Alice) too bad in this chapter! They'll be making appearances in Chapter 5!**

* * *

><p>Chapter 4<p>

Running

Beast

"Jordan, get your scooter!" Alice calls from the back porch. She pulls her shoulder-length black hair into a short, cheerleader-like pony tail and lifts a leg onto the wall of the house to stretch.

My arms swing back and forth lazily at my sides. I'm anxious to get going, I can smell the imminent storm.

Jordan sees me and takes off running to me, scooter tossed on the ground beside him. I open my arms for him to jump into and he lays his head on my shoulder, pulling my ponytail out to run his little fingers through. Alice comes up behind us and puts her hand on my arm, making me flinch. Sighing, she says "You really should start considering finding a wife, Edward. You'd be the best father." My eyes harden and I stiffen, causing Jordan to tighten his grip on me. "Plus, you know Mom would be so happy. You're her only child who hasn't given her any grandkids." she continues, ignoring how pissed off she is obviously making me.

"I'm the youngest, Alice. And not only do we live in the middle of nowhere, but no woman with eyes would want to be married to me. And I'm not going to force anyone to." I take off walking toward our usual path with Jordan still in my grip.

"Shit, Jordan, you want to get your scooter?" I slow my walk down, looking down at his face. His big brown eyes are looking up at me, his lips pursed as if in thought.

"Will you carry me, Uncle Edward?" he looks at my hair. Eye contact while speaking isn't something he preferred to do.

"Carry you? I'm running, buddy. You want to hold onto my back, like a piggy back ride? I'll run softly." He nods, and I transfer him into position on my back.

"Just pull me hair if you want me to stop, okay?" I don't wait for a reply. Alice comes up next to me silently and takes off ahead. I follow.

Minutes pass in silence as we run. There are no animals, as there are usually, further confirming my imminent storm theory.

More minutes pass, and Jordan lays his head on my back and starts to hum "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" from the family's favorite movie of the week, "The Wizard of Oz".

My feet thump on the ground rhythmically in tune with my sister's. The clouds ahead are now quickly darkening. We're not even halfway through the trail.

Alice slows down and jogs in place until I catch up to her. I know what she's going to say, but I know better than to attempt to avoid it. Stubborn woman.

"You know, it's not as big of a deal as you think it is!" she pants, picking up her running when I am next to her, "You're still a handsome guy, Edward! And you'd be even more attractive if you were just nice!" her pants made her words sharper than I'm sure she intended them to.

I feel my blood boil. She knows damn well that any mention of my appearance would set me off. And she does this knowing her son is on my back!

Jordan senses a change in me, quietly perceptive like his dad, and tugs on my ponytail. I stop and pull him to my front, setting him on hiss feet. He walks to the nearest tree and starts singing quietly, sitting at its base.

Alice has stopped too, and faces me with her arms crossed over her chest. Her body looks angry, but her eyes scream "sad".

I'm past sympathy.

"Alice, do you TRY to piss me off? I know what I fucking look like. I see myself in the mirror every day. I see the goddamn FEAR in my nieces and nephews'–hell, even my own siblings'–eyes whenever I'm near. I'm nobody's definition of handsome. I'm the textbook definition of 'ugly', 'monster', a fucking BEAST." Somehow I know I'm letting my temper get out of control, but the thought is smothered by red, so I can't hold on to it.

"Jordan and Michael and Layla th–" she starts to say, eyes welling up with tears.

"They're STUPID. They're stupid fucking KIDS that don't know SHIT about ANYTHING! Jenna and Jonny and Cate are afraid to be in the same damn room as me! I'm a fucking monster in their eyes. They have nightmares starring ME. THEY are the smart kids! You, Emmett, Angela, you're stupid too! Dumb ass masochists! Living with the object of your childhood nightmares is one thing," I notice Jordan covering his ears and crying out of the corner of my eye. I usually don't freak out like this with any of the kids nearby. My thoughts telling me to stop are consumed by the fire in my head. "But trying to LIKE hime, to be KIND to him, is just fucking idiotic!" my panting now isn't just exertion, but from the effort to refrain from the urge to rip everything in my sight to the ground.

"Edward, you're my brother! You're Jordan's uncle! Of course we LOVE you!" My eyes go from red with anger to black with dead rage. My breathing gets more shallow at the now increased effort to not explode in rage.

"Nobody." I seethe, walking up until I'm an inch from her tiny face. I hear Jordan whimper. "Nobody could 'love' this beast." I spit the "l-word" back at her. I start to jog up to continue home, ignoring my sister's sniffles and pleas to come back. I notice Jordan at my feet. I know better than to touch him in this state. I hold my clenched fists behind my back. "I'll see you later, buddy."

He doesn't move, just looks up to my face, all snotty nosed and red eyed. "I love you a lot." he cries, still not moving. My heart breaks and I quickly navigate around him to escape, just as his mother scoops him up in her arms.

I take off at a sprint. It begins to rain, just as I reach the house, but I don't stop. I head back to the trail and do another lap. My legs protest, but I know better than to go in the house until I cool down drastically.

After another two laps, I finally feel in control of myself again. My whole body is soaked to the bone, from a mixture of sweat and pelting rain, and I know I should shower before anything else. I creep in the back kitchen door of the house, met by only the sad stare of my mother Esme. She's talked to Alice, I can see it in her expression. She tosses me a bottled water.

"Thanks, Mom." I pant out. I climb ths winding stairs, past the kids' playroom, which is, as per usual for this time of morning, relatively quiet. I sneak into my bedroom, closing and locking the door. I hear the attached "Keep Out" sign clank to the ground, but I can't bring myself to fix it. I know that if my mother or one of my sisters come by, they'll fix it without a thought.

My shower is not as relaxing as I a hope it to be. As the steaming water falls down my chest and back, my muscles loosen, but my brain is still tense and I know exactly why. Jordan's broken expression haunts me as I wash my hair, turn off the shower, dry off, dress, brush my hair, and take off to the playroom to apologize to my godson.

* * *

><p><strong>Yo yo yiggidy yo (Juno, anyone?)<strong>

**Are you excited for Chapter 5? I broke it into 2 chapters, because it gets pretty intense. I'll give you a hint though. In Chapter 5, Bella meets all of the Cullen children (well some of them have different last names because their moms married non-Cullens, obviously, but you get it.) and in the last like 30 seconds, Edward meets Bella. In a weird way.**

**Chapter 6 is post-initial-meeting. It's relatively short. I have 9 pages of Chapter 7 written already though! Yay!**

**So, do you approve? Any questions? Just to clear this up, I don't have a specific time that this is taking place. I don't write in any phones or tv's, but I will eventually have a car. And modern kitchen appliances (even though they hunt for their meat... well, one person does. One guess as to who the "Hunter" might be? Anyone? Anyone?).**

**Okay, and one last heads-up. There will be a total of eighteen characters. (Including Rosalie and Emmett's soon-to-be-son!) Don't freak out though, it should be easy to follow. There's individual families in one big house. Shouldn't be too hard to keep up with!**

**Thanks for bearing with me, here!**

**-Nina**


	5. Play With Us, Beauty

**Ok****ay, I didn't update yesterday. Here's my excuse:  
>I tried some new allergy meds and forgot to eat so I nearly died.<br>Kind of. I slept like 6 hours as a nap though.  
>Anyways, this is my longest chapter yet. Almost 3000 words!<br>Hopefully this will make up for not updating yesterday.**

**Also, if you think it'd help for me to upload a picture of the layout of the house, I will. I have one drawn for me to keep track and I'm not sure if I explain the layout enough to correctly convey everyone's locations.**

**In this chapter, Bella meet ALL the kids and, in the last like paragraph, gets a glimpse of the beast!**

**Hope you enjoy!  
>-Nina<br>**

* * *

><p>Chapter 5<p>

Play With Us

Beauty

My breath catches when the door pulls open without prompt from me. Has someone been watching?

I see nobody through the visible crack in the door. The warmth draws me in, without thought.

"Hi!" a tiny voice greets me.

I look down to the voice, startled, and am met with the widest blue eyes I've ever seen.

"Hello," I reply, "is this your house?" her smile doesn't waiver as she pulls me inside by the hand and pushes the giant door closed with her tiny leg.

"This is my Uncle Edward's house, but everybody I know lives here. Do you live here now? I'm Layla. I'm four years old but I'm kind of little." She doesn't even pause for breath. Everyone she knows? Are we really so far away from town that she only associates with her family? Layla totes me by the hand towards a winding staircase. I let her drag me along, too stunned to do much else.

"Let me show you my playroom! You can meet my brother Michael, he's nine. And my cousin Jordan is six. I have four cousins. Jenna and Jonny are seven and they're kind of mean. Care is only three so she is the baby. Jordan, Jenna, Jonny, Cate, that's four. My Aunt Rose is going to have another baby soon so then I'll have another cousin, that's five cousins! Do you have any cousins, Miss Lady?" I continue to be led by this child upstairs to a room with a white door decorated in colorful horizontal marks, about an inch each, at all levels of height. Probably to track height. My dad used to do that with me until I tuned 12. Layla opens the door and drops my hand, walking to a corner on the other side of the huge room.

"No, I have no cousins, or sisters or brothers. I have a cat named Jack though. He's outside. My name is Bella, by the way. I used to live," I sigh internally at the new phrasing, "in Forks. Do you know where that is?" I survey the room—yellow walls with dozens of colorful handprints in all different sizes. There's another door to the left, covered in hand-drawn pictures. There's a comfortable-looking bean bag in the far right corner of the room, opposite Layla. A big bookshelf lines the back wall. A plastic table is in the middle of the room, and boxes of toys line the left wall. Layla digs through the box closest to her.

"Yeah, I went there once with my Nana. There's a lot of houses there. What time is it, Bella?" there isn't a lot of houses, actually, though I guess compared to one, few could very well seem excessive.

I look at my wrist to answer Layla's question—no watch. I remember that I sold it to a brown-toothed old man for eight dollars at my final yard sale. He later tried to buy a lock of my hair for another eight. "I'm not sure," I admit, "I don't have a watch."

Layla looks over her shoulder at me, still standing in the doorway. She points to somewhere above my head, and I notice a giant white clock with big colorful letters. "10:53."

"It's almost eleven o clock! Usually everyone's in here by now. I wake up at 8:30 every day with my mommy. Sometimes my brother wakes up with us, but he's a boy so he can sleep all day long." I walk towards her, watching her pull apart a plastic container of hard plastic "food". "Bella, close that door, please." She doesn't even look up.

I turn around to close the door when two boys walk through. They close the door and give me a weird look, but continue to the toy wall regardless. "Hi," I say, trying to convey that I'm not a threat.

One of them nods at me and turns to Layla. "Who's she?" he asks, as if I can't hear him.

Layla smiles and waves me over to her. "This is my new friend Bella, she has a cat named Jack." She introduces. The boy stares at me for a minute, and then walks forward to meet me.

"I'm Michael. Why are you all wet?" he studies my dripping clothes.

"It's raining, you idiot. She must have been outside." The other boy doesn't even look up from his toy search.

"That's Jonny," Layla rolls her eyes. "I told you he was mean." She sticks her tongue out at his turned back. "Bella, do you want to play Kitchen with me? I'm not allowed to cook real food by myself because I'm too little." She states, spreading out all her "food" on the floor in the front of her. Michael rolls his eyes and walks over to his cousin, helping him search through the boxes.

"Sure, Layla. Do you have a bathroom I could use first? I need to change." I gesture to my soaked bag resting on my hip, dripping slowly on the carpeted floor.

Michael turns around and comes up to us and Layla sighs loudly. "Fine." She pouts. "But hurry up because you have to play with us!" she turns back to her toys and lets her brother take over.

"Go through that door," he instructs, pointing to the door covered in pictures, "and there's a big bathroom on the back wall to the right of the right of the room. But you have to be quiet because my cousin Cate is taking a nap in there." Michael grabs my arm and twists me to face the door. Silently, he sits down next to his sister and helps her set out the last of the toys. Jonny sulks over when he sees Michael sitting and joins them.

I make my way to the door, my boots making a sick sloshy noise with every step. I open the door and peek inside the bedroom before entering.

The layout of the room reminds me of the movie "Annie", with twin beds lines up on both sides of the wall, three on each side. Only two are occupied, both on the right side—assuming by the drastic pink-and-blue color scheme, of the room—the girls' side. The first bed closest to me on the right holds a sleeping girl with the same facial bone structure and super fair blond hair as Jonny, presumably his twin sister Jenna. The bed to the left of hers held a sleeping brunette child, much tinier than the first, presumably Cate. Her short brown bob is covering her sleeping face.

I make my way down the long runway, passing one more bed on my right and pull open door at the back wall. I hear a sound like a quick outtake of breath and seconds after smell the suffocating scent of chemical roses. I spy the blinking motion detecting electronic air freshener at the foot of the wall next to me. Hoping to slyly let some of the scent out, I take my time closing the door. It snaps closed and I immediately turn on one of the sink faucets—there are two sinks.

My bag makes a wet squishy noise when I set it on the counter. I remove the top flap and remove my things. My blanket, which I had thrown on the top, had absorbed a lot of the water. The tiny bath tub at the far left side of the bathroom—there's another mirroring it on the right—catches my eye, so I bring my thin covers, wring it out over the drain, and hang it out on the rod above the tub, which is unadorned with a curtain anyways. I come back to my bag. My book, I see, is a bit dirty; though thankfully not wet enough to be muddy. I set it on the counter after brushing the majority of the dirt into the trashcan under the sink. I set it aside, pulling out my thick journal and pen, a gift from my father for Christmas last year. Next to reading, writing is my favorite thing to do. My journal is relatively unscathed, so I set it on top of "Wuthering Heights".

The extra shirt and socks I brought with me, however, attracted some water from the outside perimeter of my bag. Not as wet as my current clothes, so they'll do.

First I untie and unzip my boots. Thankfully the rain had washed off most of the mud, so I hadn't tracked mud through the house. I set their carcasses by the door, opposite side from the foul air freshener, as to try not to set it off again.

My socks are sloshy, as is my black shirt. I use the wet cloth to do a final rub down on my dried-bloody leg and mentally note to myself to find some rubbing alcohol for it later.

I didn't think to bring a new pair of pants, figuring that these would last me a few days, so can't change out of them. They're not too wet anyways, shielded by my shirt and bag.

I pull on my blue thin sleeved tank top and plain white ankle socks.

I wring out my long brown hair, the waves amplified by the added bath. My face is bare—I never wear makeup. Not because I don't like it, but because I could never afford it., and I never was out to impress anyone ever anyways.

With one last survey of the bathroom to make sure that I didn't make too much of a mess, I turn off the faucet and walk out of the room. I hear the pshh noise of the air freshener and quickly shut the door behind me.

The first thing I notice is that one of beds is empty; Jenna's gone. The second thing I notice is Cate, the baby, opening and rubbing her eyes.

We lock gazes. Is she going to scream? Cry? Run?

"Hi," we both say at the same time.

I rush to reassure her that I'm safe. "My name's Bella. You're Cate, right? I'm friends with your cousin Layla." I hope she recognizes my honesty. "Do you want to come play with us? We're going to play with the food." I offer.

She looks at me for a second, then lifts her arms out at me to be picked up.

I walk the few feet to her and comply. Cate smoothes my hair with the palm of her hand.

"Pretty" she states.

I walk us to the door that leads to the playroom and step inside. Michael and Jonny are playing with trucks by the toy boxes and Jenna and Layla are conversing with their hands on their hips and little stomping feet stomping near the destroyed line of "food".

There seems to be a fight brewing, so I set Cate down and walk to them.

"Jenna?" I ask when I'm near enough.

She looks up at me and lifts her eyebrows. "What, Bel-la?" she sneers.

I guess Layla was right in warning me of the rudeness of Jenna and Jonny. "Is everything okay over here? You two look like you're fighting." I feel Cate approach and grasp on to my shirt. I spare a glance down and see her sucking her right thumb and watching the fight avidly.

"She wants to take my toys, but I was here first!" Layla pouts. She looks two seconds from tears.

Jenna retorts, "Well I'm oldest, and I don't want her to play with these because I want to play by myself. So Layla has to leave." She lightly shoves her cousin.

Layla's tears begin to fall so I decide to further interfere.

"Layla, how about us and Cate go read? I see a lot of cool books over there." I point to the bookshelf in the corner near the bean bag. After a few seconds of sniffling, Layla nods and takes my left hand as I grab Cate's with my right. They lead me to the bookcase.

Layla picks out the first book she sees and sits in front of the bean bag chair.

"Read to us, Bella?" she hands me the book and pulls Cate into her tiny lap. They look nearly the same size so the image is almost comical.

I sit on the bean bag chair and flip to the first page.

Michael looks up from the trucks and nudges to Jonny. They both get up and walk to us, plopping down on either side of Layla and Cate.

"'Corduroy' was my favorite book when I was little." I say, smiling at my tiny crowd. It reminds me of the times when I volunteered at my church's daycare center before my father got sick.

A few pages in to the book I notice Jenna eying us from her spot alone on the floor. A few pages later, I see her stand up out of the corner of my eye and walk tentatively over to us, sitting on the other side of her brother.

Jenna, Jonny, Layla, Cate and Michael stare up at me as I utter "the end". Cate claps and Michael stands up, taking "Corduroy" from my hands and returns it to the bookshelf behind me, extracting another book.

"Indian in the Cupboard" I begin.

The playroom door opens and my heart stops for a moment. I'm not ready to face the adults of the house quite yet, and risk being sent out back into the cold!

Fortunately, it's just a little boy.

"Jordan! Come meet our friend Bella!" Layla calls from under Cate.

His eyes meet mine for a split second and I recognize the red-rimmed tint from tears. His clothes are dry but his thick brown hair is wet. I notice that he has come in from the bedroom door, not the main door.

Had he been outside? Had he seen Jack?

"Do you have a cat?" he whispers and adverts his eyes to the ground as he walks over slowly.

"Jack, yes! Did you see him? Is he alright?" I start to question my leaving him leashed outside. He is more of a wild breed, capable of standing the cold, but he's still a big more domesticated than most.

"I saw him but I didn't tell my mom. He's a big cat." Jordan sits next to Michael, who pulls him into his lap, mimicking Layla and Cate's position.

"Oh good! I can't help but exhale. He's just bought me more time in this warm house, shielded from the harsh weather.

"Jack's a Bengal cat," I explain, "they're big. He's nice though, I promise." I smile down at him and he stares at my sock-clad feet.

Jenna stands up and I warily eyeball her as she pulls a hair brush from the bottom shelf of the bookcase behind me. "May I brush your hair, Bella?" she asks, looking up at my through her beautiful thick lashes. It's easy for me to realize how she must get away with being so rude to people.

"I don't know, Jenna. I felt like you were being quite rude to me and Layla earlier. Maybe if you apologize to us I'll let you." I raise my eyebrows at her and she blushes.

"I'm sorry, Layla. I won't hog the toys again. And sorry for being mean, Bella." She stares at the ground face red from being called out, I'm sure.

I set the book on my lap and throw my now dry hair over my shoulders so she can have at it.

"I forgive you, Jenna." Layla says.

I feel my hair get tugged and I try my hardest not to grimace. No one besides me has ever touched my hair.

"Your hair is worse than Uncle Edward's." Jenna sighs and she separates and tugs like it's her job.

"Okay, should I read this now?" I ask, and the kids in front of me vigorously nod. Cate stands up from her position on top of Layla and plops down in my lap and the other kids scoot closer.

I begin reading and once I get through to the last page, the door opens to the playroom—the main door. The brush falls from my hair.

My heart stops as I stare at the creaking culprit, praying that the AC had blown it open. All the kids' eyes follow the motion of the slowly opening door and I know I shouldn't be so lucky.

A man enters the room.

Not just a man; a towering, dark, long haired, tortured looking, devastatingly handsome, scar-faced beast. As hit timid eyes meet mine, they flash from regretful, tentative, and slightly shy, to absolutely livid in just a second.

His eyes burn holes into my skin and he takes a step forward.

* * *

><p><strong>So...?<br>Excited for Chapter 6?  
>It's still in Bella's point-of-view, and is kind of short, but it continues from where this left off.<br>Then is the Beast again! I reeeally love Chapter 7 so far! Hope you will too!  
>I'm tempted to make this a mine long here, explaining why Alice and Edward's hair is so long, and everyone's relation... but you'll find out eventually!<br>I write this in a spiral notebook when I'm in class in the mornings, and I only have 2 blank pages left! I've filled a WHOLE spiral notebook already with Beauty and the Beast! And my handwriting isn't even ridiculously big!**

**Quick question though, guys.  
>Should I change the name of this story?<br>Is "Beauty and the Beast" too unoriginal?  
>I'm not good at titles (as you can tell from the suck-y chapter names) so sorry.<br>Have any alternative ideas?**

**And one last question, then I'll leave you to review or go on Facebook or whatever:  
>What do you think of the kids? You should have a pretty clear idea of them now, right?<br>Can you guess who's kids are who's? (You know Jordan and Alice and Angela, Michael & Layla though)**

**Thanks for keeping up with me here, guys.  
>You're awesome!<br>-Nina**


	6. Furious, Beauty

**Short chapter, boo.  
>Just barely 1,000 words. A disappointment, I know.<br>But I did break up 5 into 5 and 6. So that's my excuse.  
>Anyways, here you get to see Edward mad!<br>(Is it bad that I feel angry Edward is the sexiest Edward?)  
>Layla and Jordan ooze cuteness and Michael shows some big-boy responsibility.<br>*Hello to TWO new reviewers, joining my loyal two! Koot kat132 & Jade Dougy, welcome :b  
>Hope you enjoy this chapter!<strong>

**-Nina**

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

Furious

Beauty

His steps are long, hard, oozing of rage. This must be the house's Master.

Quicker than I thought possible, the kids shoot up and step behind me on the chair. Cate goes to Michael's arms and he gently hands her off to Jenna, who picks her up and walks backwards until they're flat up against the bookcase.

Jonny follows them and mimics the position. I see Michael slide around the congregation and make his way to the main door, careful to leave a wide perimeter around the beast, whose eyes are dead set on nothing but me.

I stand up just as Michael leaves my direct line of sight and the man finally reaches where I am.

Layla and Jordan are standing next to me, her hand on his, and I try feebly to push them behind me also, to shield them.

"Who the fuck are YOU?" he roars in my face. I understand the kids' terror. I'm locked on his face. His angry scars are semi-covered by his long hair, but not covered enough to be invisible to me. My voice catches in my throat as I get locked on his piercing green eyes.

"Are you DEAF? What the FUCK are you doing in my house? What are you doing with my nieces and nephews, you goddamn creep?" My eyes widen still. I am mesmerized by his perfect mouth as it spews hate on me. "Answer me!" he demands.

"I-I-I'm Bel—" I stutter.

"This is my friend Bella, Uncle Edward. She's nice. I let her in because it was stormy outside and she—" Layla tries to defend me, poking out from behind my semi-restraining hand.

The beast's gaze doesn't waiver from my face.

"Do you really need a goddamn BABY to defend you?" he spits at me. "Don't you fucking SPEAK?" he roars, ripping the book from my right hand, the hand not trying to shield the kids. He chucks the book at the wall a few feet from where all are standing and it falls to the ground, announcing itself with a loud clap.

I hear frantic footsteps climbing up the stairs, and the whisper of voices.

"I-I'm sorry," I sputter, "I'm looking for work, I'm from Forks and I'm orphaned and alone—" I try to explain, but he interrupts me with a grasp on my arm, effectively shutting me up from shock.

"Well we're not hiring! And this isn't a goddamn hotel! Get the FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!" he roars in my face, shoving my body towards the door. Naturally, though, I trip over my own feet and fall to the ground. His grasp leaves me arm as I spiral to the carpeted floor.

"Uncle Edward, stop it!" Layla cries, sobbing. "She's nice, Uncle Edward! Don't be mean to her, please!" she runs to me on the ground, towing Jordan. She tries to pull me upright, grabbing the arm that the beast just released. I feel the throbbing of a soon-to-be bruise and cry out unintentionally at the contact. Layla drops my arm and cries harder. Jordan, I notice out of the corner of my eye, is pushing and slapping at his uncle, as if it'd do anything. He is just standing still, staring at me hatefully as a response. Jenna, Jonny and Cate, I notice, are still cowered back against the bookcase.

I quickly stand back up, taking a fast step toward the livid monster and scoop up Jordan. For all I know, his uncle could swoop down and kill him in two seconds.

I hear the shouting of adults from the doorway. When had they gotten here? Jordan in my arms is buried in my shoulder, hiccupping, and Layla is wrapped around my leg, patting it comfortingly. I'm not sure who she's trying to comfort, me or herself.

I watch, my left arm grasped onto Layla's shoulder as lightly as I can manage and my right arm trying to support Jordan's weight, as a big man—bigger than the beast—wraps his thick tree trunk arms around him, shoving him out of the door. I soon hear two sets of heavy footsteps rushing down the stairs, and some grunting.

Cate jumps from Jenna's light embrace and the twins follow.

A very pregnant blonde picks up Cate, which probably isn't too good for her or the baby she's carrying.

A tiny woman with white blond locks kneels down to embrace Jenna and Jonny. The resemblance between the three is striking.

Michael's hand, I notice, is in the grasp of a slender, soft-looking brunette with pretty glasses, who steps forward to us. Layla peeks up and jumps into her open arm.

"I'm Angela," she introduces, giving me a non-judgmental once-over. She stands up straight, still holding her daughter. "Come with me." She invites, nodding at me and following Michael's lead out of the main playroom door.

Jordan still huddled in my arms, I follow.

What just happened?

Angela's son opens a door at the tippy end of the long upstairs hallway and closes it behind his mother and myself politely.

Angela lays Layla on the single twin bed and sits crisscrossed next to her, Michael getting in the bed on Angela's right. She lays a hand on either side of her, on each of her children's backs. They all are snuggled so close together. For a split second I'm jealous of the family.

I stand a few steps away, eyes wide and looking completely lost, I'm sure. My dad always said I was an open book. Angela gestures to the empty part of the bed in front of her and Layla, Michael's feet sprawled out in to nearly the edge of the bed. I perch on Layla's blank side and navigate myself to the center, back on the footboard of the bed, facing the trio, navigating Jordan on my lap, snuggling into my shoulder still, silent. I feel his hiccups and tears through my thin shirt.

Before Angela can even utter the words "what the fuck", I hear the door behind me whoosh open.

I can't bring myself to turn around and see who it is.

"Jordan!" a sweet soprano voice exclaims from a few feet behind me. His head pops up and looks for the course. I hear the door shut.

A very short, very slender black haired woman comes into view, reaching out for Jordan. I hear him whisper "mommy" as he clings onto her neck.

"It's alright, baby." She coos. "I'm Alice." She nods, giving me a tentative smile.

All I can do it blink and shake my head to try to clear my head.

"…what?"

* * *

><p><strong>Confused yet?<br>** **Hopefully you won't be for long!  
>Now, be honest here: Is angry Edward sexy or what? (any Edward is sexy actually).<br>Now keep this in mind: Edward isn't totally violent. He'd never hurt anyone in his right mind. Bella did fall, he didn't push her on purpose to the ground. So, this isn't going to be a domestic voilence story. (Though I may weave that into Bella and Edward's relationship, it won't be the focal point.)  
><strong>**The next chapter is LONG AS SHIT.  
>So be prepared. It's back to the Beast's POV. He's angry, but he cools down. Ish.<br>He overhears a family meeting of sorts and you get to meet the rest of the family, including Daddy and Mommy Cullen! (I totally love Esme, in every story. She's my favorite.)  
>Stay tuned, guys and keep reviewing if you want! :)<br>**


	7. Guilt, Beast

**My longest chapter yet! Hope you're excited!  
>I really like this chapter though, guys. You get to get a glimpse into Edward's mind. His number one priority (his godkids, Layla Michael &amp; Jordan), what he does when he's upset (you'll see the last few sentences!) and his relationship with the rest of the family. Alec, James, Esme and Carlisle make appearances here! I do love me some Esme!<br>Edward goes from angry to blank to sad to angry to self-hating to angry to sleepy to annoyed to hungry to annoyed again to sad to guilty and self-hating to sad to very sad. His mood swings are giving me whiplash!**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

**Don't forget to let me know what you think :)**

**PS: Bildo, TeeToe1988 & Yummy Dummy thanks for being dolls and reviewing Chapter 6! Internet hand jobs for you! (Just kidding. We'll get to that later on in the story ;b)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 7<p>

Guilt

Beast

* * *

><p>I can't think.<p>

Why is there a beautiful stranger in my fucking house? With my fucking nieces and nephews? How did she even find this place, in the middle of this dark, dangerous forest?

She claims to be from Forks, the second nearest town from us. And "orphaned and alone". How the fuck is that MY problem? Don't I take care of ENOUGH people? Am I some sort of joke? Oh, you need a place to stay? Go to the Edward Fucking Cullen Motel, he'll put you up for free… just beware of his horrific appearance!

She looked me dead in the eye. She had studied my fucking face, my scars. She's scared of me. I'm sure she's passed out by now from the fucking SHOCK.

I'm in the living room, pacing. Emmett watches me from his position near the couch, ready to hold me back if I attempt to break any of Esme's furniture.

I stop and close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose with one hand and molesting my hair with the other. I sink to the ground against a wall and exhale.

Emmett, probably sensing that the wave of anger has passed, walks up to where I am and kneels. I open my eyes, sensing him in front of me.

"Mom told me what happened this morning with Alice and Jordan. He was pretty shook up." Emmett informs me, as if I didn't already know. That was the reason I went to the playroom in the first place. "I'm sure right now he's REALLY shaken up. Did you see the way he was hitting you?" he chuckles a bit. "If it weren't so sad, it'd be kind of cute." I avoid eye contact, staring down at my hands, now clasped in front of me.

"Why is that girl here?" I mumble. Emmett, my closest brother, should understand why I'm upset. No one outside of the family has seen my face in years. Nearly five.

"I'm sure Ali and Ang will be down with all the details eventually." He chuckles, as if this is a laughing matter. "I didn't even get a good chance to look at her. From what little I saw, she looks kind of young. Alice and Angela will probably take her under their wing, if I know my sisters."

I don't reply. The girl is beautiful, without a doubt. But obviously her beauty would be wasted here.

"You don't think that maybe Mom planned this in order to—" I cut him off.

"Please, Emmett." I close my eyes again, tossing my head back against the wall with a thud. "Is it really smart to piss me off right now, again?" I mutter, trying to think straight.

All my fuck-ups of the day seem to suffocate me at once.

Jordan, one of my three godchildren, and one of the only kids in the house that can even stand to look at me, is probably scarred by my outbursts for life. He's seen me angry before, but I'm always quick to apologize and explain. Two without excuses and apologies in one morning? Fuck.

Layla, sweet, sweet Layla, who always defends me and thinks of me as her hero probably hates me more than anyone right now. I didn't even listen to her trying to explain. I know how much that hurts.

Michael, the oldest and definitely most mature, will probably look at me with a disapproving glare whenever he sees me from now on. My anger only intensified when I watched him slink out of the room to get his mother to help. Though, now I see that it's a blessing in itself that he did.

Jenna, Jonny and Cate have always been scared of me, wary at best. Now, I'm sure, there's a zero percent chance of me ever getting on their good sides.

And that's just the kids!

Emmett's wife, Rosalie has disliked me from the get-go. Even before… I got my scars… she thought I was shit. And I didn't always have this temper. Just because I hit on her in my youth (and borderline sexually assaulted, I won't lie. I was a cocky, arrogant fucker.), she thinks of me as the scum on the earth. Can't she learn to forgive? Goddamn. Their daughter Cate, I'm sure, would like me due to Emmett's loyalty to me (if it was up to him, I'd be Cate's godfather too, but he's so whipped by Rose that he just lets her have the final say in everything) but she, naturally, had to fuck that up for me. Now Rosalie has yet another reason to turn her daughter—and my soon to be newborn niece or nephew—against me.

Alice and Angela, and Jordan, Michael and Layla really feel (felt?) like I'm worth a shit. Even when I lose my temper, they stand by my side. Now though? Even if I didn't just scare the kids shitless, what kind of mother would allow their children around a threat, a monster, like me?

Jane and her husband Alec, and their kids Jonny and Jenna have never liked me. As if they ever would. They're the only ones who make sense, the only family to totally stay away, and they still got burned.

Alice's husband, Jasper, thankfully, has been an army General for the past 3 years in the Middle East somewhere, so he hasn't been around to watch me progressively get worse since the "incident" the year prior to him leaving. He was convinced that I'd be okay, back to normal, by the time he gets back home on his 28th birthday in June. He doesn't know that I'd gotten worse, unless Alice mentioned it in one of her monthly many-paged letters.

My parents, Esme and Carlisle, love me as only parents can. They are the only two people who have never looked at me with pity or hesitancy. They have complete faith in me; and even I don't have that in myself. They are, I'm sure, discussing what just went down with the family, in the kitchen.

My head shuts up for a minute enough so I can hear them mumbling from that general direction.

"I'm about two seconds from moving to Forks, Mom!" I hear Jane hiss. Please do, bitch.

"Yeah, I can't have this level of stress with the baby." Emmett's wife complains. Baby, baby, baby. Bitch.

"Nana, he scares me." I head Jenna whine. Of course I scare her.

"Me too!" Jonny adds. Always sucking on someone else's tit.

My mother finally speaks. "Now, listen here!" she commands in her soft yet firm motherly voice. "Edward is my son, your brother, and your uncle! We Cullen's don't turn our back on our family, you hear?"

"But my last name is McDonald." Jenna complains.

I hear my mother's frustrated sigh.

"Jenna," my father explains, "you're a Cullen. And so are Uncle Jasper, Aunt Alice, Aunt Angela, Uncle James and all your cousins! Your last names may be different but you're all a part of the Cullen family." He declares.

I imagine the McDonalds rolling their eyes. Alec speaks.

"I don't know if I'm comfortable with my kids being exposed to that beast." He pronounces with struggle. His first language, Dutch, leaves his words a bit slurred and forced.

"Well, Alec, what do you suggest? We're living in HIS home. None of us hold a full time job outside of here. We can't just pick up and leave." I hear Angela's husband James hiss. He lives in a cabin in the forest, hunting for our meat. He is usually only inside for lunch and dinner daily. I guess it's a special occasion.

I hear a collective sigh as Jane and Alec realize he's right.

"I write." Rosalie offers. As if her shitty freelance work would support her materialistic lifestyle and two children.

"Now you all listen here!" Esme exclaims. "We are a family!" she near-shouts. "We will NOT turn on Edward, no matter what. He is HURTING and being like this will NOT help him heal!" she sounds close to tears.

"This is the LAST of this conversation, understood?" Carlisle's authoritative voice is echoed by silence.

I don't realize that I've walked across the living room with Emmett trailing behind me, until I'm watching everyone's eyes snap up to meet mine, standing in the middle of the kitchen.

Their eyes all snap back to the ground when they meet mine.

They're all congregated around the kitchen island, my father with his arms around my mom, Alex with his arm around Jane and hers on the shoulders of her twins, and Rosalie still holding a now-sleeping Cate on her hip, ignoring her pregnancy.

My mother leaves my father's embrace and comes up to me. I'm not sure what expression I have on my face.

"Edward, honey," she sniffles, hugging my waist. I lazily put my arms around her. She's the only adult I'd touch this comfortably.

"If that's how you guys feel," I begin, my voice quiet, "what are you still doing here? Go try to fit in the two-bedroom cabin with James. Or build your own." I close my eyes, drained. My mother's sweet bakery smell always takes the anger from me.

Emmett finally speaks. "Yeah, you guys easily take advantage of his hospitality, yet bitch him out whenever you can, behind his back?" I look up to see him taking Cate's limp body from his wife, giving her a stern look.

Alec sighs, rigid. "I'm sorry, Edward" he bullshits. Yeah right, asshole. My brother-in-law, both of them, really, feel more like business partners than brothers.

"Ditto" mumbles James, my other in-law. Dick.

My mom doesn't let go of my waist. She pulls back a bit to look up at my face. "Sweetheart, can we speak in private? You, me and Dad?" She's been referring to her husband as "dad" to me since the day I was born. I had never seen him as anything but my father, but the fact that she tries so hard makes me feel kind of awkward.

I can't bring myself to think about me "real" father. Even thinking his name—Aro Volturi—sends chills down my spine.

I nod and watch as the rest of the family exits the kitchen, their eyes downcast in shame. Except Emmett, who nods at me and smiles quickly as he leaves the room. Rosalie catches this and glares.

"Sit down, Edward." Carlisle mutters, nodding toward the two barstools at the island once everyone leaves and the downstairs is relatively silent.

I comply, Esme taking the stool next to me, grasping my hand. It doesn't raise the hair on my neck like it would if any other adult touched my hand. She is, and always has been, a very affectionate person. Especially to me, her youngest child.

"Son, before you get upset, take a step back from the situation and listen to us for a minute, alright?" he leans on his elbows over the island across from his wife and myself.

"Okay" I mutter, avoiding eye contact. My parents have a way of regressing me back into a child again, or an unruly teenager (that I definitely was!). Lots of "the best for you" love, but still a tangible authority.

My mother takes over. "As you heard, honey," she pauses so slightly, "the girl has nowhere to go."

My hand tightens at the inevitable direction of this conversation and I hear Esme gasp at the pressure. She doesn't pull away though. She knows me inside and out, and knows that if she would pull away I would be shattered. I'm a fragile fuck. I focus all my energy on loosening my hold on her hand, under the heavy glare from Carlisle.

I know what's going to happen. They're going to let the girl stay here, in MY house, without asking me. I wish I had it in me to deny them.

"She's just a girl, Edward. Please don't be difficult." My mom pleads. I avoid her eyes and try desperately to tame my rising temper. I scoot closer to her and try to subtly breathe her calming scent in. She immediately notices what I'm trying to do and jumps into my arms for a quick hug, before sitting back down. I blush. She knows everything. Must be a Mom thing.

"Do I get a choice in the matter?" I sarcastically breathe out. Of course I don't. It's basically a rhetorical question.

"Edward, sweetie, just consider for a moment. She said she is orphaned and alone, and she can't be, from what your sister has told me, older than sixteen. Are you really willing to send her out like that, alone, in this weather?" my mother uses her thumb to rub circles into my palm like she does when either of us—or both, like in this case—are upset.

"Can't we just send her off with some cash when the weather clears up? It's not like there's enough mouths to feed here already. What is it, sixteen, soon to be seventeen when Rosalie delivers? With the girl it will be eighteen. James can't hunt for eighteen people. He can barely fucking hunt for sixteen as is." I run my left hand through my hair.

"Watch it, son," Carlisle scolds, "That's your sister's husband and your brother-in-law that you're talking about."

"Whatever" I sigh, standing up. "I'll be in the library. I'm asking that nobody bothers me." I huff, extracting my hand from my mother's and make my way out of the kitchen and to the stairs.

I hear my parents sigh in unison. I'm such a fucking disappointment.

I pass by Angela's room and wonder if I should apologize before I retreat. Voices carry through the door and I pinpoint Alice's high-pitched rambling voice immediately. As a response, I hear a super soft melodious hum that takes me a second to place.

It's hers.

I stomp into my bedroom, slamming the door and walk straight through to my library, slamming that door too. I head to my stereo and flick it on. The current song, Claire De Lune does nothing to calm me. It just pisses me off even more.

I leave it on and sink into my chair. I pull out my Bic lighter from the drawer on my book stand and light the single vanilla candle on its top. Tossing the lighter back into the stand, I pull out my pack of Marlboro Smooths as a trade-off.

I unnecessarily light a cigarette with the candle, ignoring the actual lighter. Rebellious even when alone.

Puffing on the cigarette, I open the book I set down this morning. Well, earlier this morning—the clock on the wall claims it to be before even noon.

I set my cigarette on a holder in my ashtray at the base of the candle (my mother's reluctant idea) and get lost in the world of Hamlet.

Before I know it, I hear muffled but frantic banging.

"Edward!" I hear being shouted, accompanied by pounding at my bedroom door. It's Angela's voice.

I rub my eyes and stand up, placing my book down on my chair seat and blowing out my candle. My abandoned cigarette is burned down to the butt, still in its holder. The ash is in an untouched line. I flick it and it disintegrates before my eyes. I had only taken two drags.

"What?" I call, my voice scratchy from sleep. The clock reads 2:15. Had I missed lunch?

"Open the door, Edward." I hear Alice's voice chime in, muffled by the two doors between us.

I notice that the rain intensity has decreased to just a drizzle. Would it be possible that they have sent the girl on her way?

Of course not.

"We need to talk." Alice declares in her mom-voice. I open my library door, grabbing the key ring off my bed and locking the door tight behind me, stowing the ring in my pocket. I flick on my bedroom light and open the bedroom door.

The sign that fell is gone, I immediately notice. Assholes.

The very next thing I notice, though, is the plate and bowl of food in Angela's grasp. My stomach growls loudly and I mindlessly reach out for it.

Angela sidesteps my hands and I look up to her face. She, like Alice, has her eyebrows raised in a "really?" fashion. Total mom-mode.

"Please come in, darling sisters." I spit, stepping back so they can let themselves in. Napping always tends to make me extra grumpy.

"Why thank you, darling brother." Alice rolls her eyes. She and Angela pass by me and perch on the edge of my bed.

"So, I can't eat it?" my eyes never leave the food. All I'd eaten today is coffee, which is very unusual for me. I usually eat more than a teenage boy with the munchies, Emmett and I both. And now his pregnant wife can match our abilities, though she gets all offended when anyone points it out. Touchy bitch.

"We need to talk." Angela declares, sitting the steaming tray of food next to her on my bed. My mouth waters as the smell of grilled cheese and tomato soup wafts to my nose. It's one of my favorites. I'm so fucking hungry that I'd probably even eat broccoli if it was in front of me right now.

"About what?" I brake my trance to go and sit on my floor at their feet like a schoolboy, humoring them. I'm so tall and they're so tiny that it's ridiculous.

"About Bella." Angela narrows her eyes. "And Layla." She continues. "And Michael." She crosses her arms across her chest.

"And Jordan." Alice chimes in, her mom-face not amused.

"Especially Jordan." Angela agrees.

Well shit.

"Okay." I choke out, hunger suddenly pushed to the very back of my mind. I feel nauseous. I want to cry. The guilt burns my eyes like No More Tears shampoo.

"As much as I wish they could sometimes," Alice sighs, "they could never hate you."

"Well," Angela says, "Bella easily can, though I don't think she would, but the kids actually cannot."

I try to regulate my breathing.

"Go on." I whisper. I don't give a fuck if Bella hates me!

The kids "could never hate me"… seems like a good sign.

"But naturally, they're kind of scared of you right now." Alice hedges, her voice softening slightly. I remember our "conversation" from this morning.

"Good." I mumble, though I resist blubbering like a baby.

Angela deeply sighs. My sisters could always, annoyingly enough, see through my tough exterior.

"But they do want to talk to you. Mom is keeping them and Bella entertained right now, but you will need to apologize sooner or later." Ang says, closing her eyes and running her dingers through her long straight brown hair. Family habit. Even Carlisle does it.

Bella.

"Especially Bella, Edward." Alice adds. Her name sounds strange next to mine. I suppress a growl.

"You're going to have to at least speak to her. She's probably going to stick around for a while. Everybody already loves her." She continues. I flinch at the L-word.

"Except Rosalie and Jane, but that's all the more reason for you two to get along! And all the kids think she's the greatest thing ever. Really, even Jordan is clinging to her!" Angela smiles. Jordan doesn't let anyone but Alice, me and my mom even hold him, though Nana is trying to phase out.

I feel jealous. It took him nearly a year to be able to look at me after I got my scars and he's automatically attached to this stranger from the get-go? Bullshit!

Alice slides off my bed and kneels in front of me. "I told the kids to give you space for a while," she whispers, alternating her gaze between my face and the floor.

"Okay," I close my eyes to contain the waterworks. I'm such a pussy.

I feel Angela sit down at my right. They both know better than to physically touch me; I broke James' nose last time he tried.

"But we are willing to be lenient on you if you can behave at dinner tonight." Angela says softly. Her mom-voice is gone. Now she's wearing the sweet-big-sister voice.

"Control your temper." Alice adds.

I nod, not trusting my voice. Between the extensive run, two major freak-out, and lack of food, I feel weaker than I'm used to. Usually my girly emotions would have me angry enough to break my bedpost, but it's just not in me today.

"Dinner's at seven. Bella will be there. Everyone will be watching you, Edward, so don't make a fool of yourself. Please, be civil, if you can't manage nice," Alice near-whispers, her big-sister-voice now coming in to play, too.

"And control your temper" they say in unison.

I nod again and take a deep breath, opening my watery eyes and trying to hold myself together.

Hearing that the three most important people in my life are afraid of me feels like an arrow to the heart. Fuck Bella. At this point, she's not even my concern. Jenna, Jonny and Cate have always not liked me, so that's no surprise, but Layla, Jordan and Michael are my fucking godchildren. If I didn't have them, I'd have no one.

Alice and Angela take my silence as a dismissal. I watch them stand up and take calming breaths. Angela leans over my bed and hands me the tray of food that doesn't even interest me anymore. I take it though, and mumble a "thanks".

They both look at me, and then each other, for just a moment, and I know what they're thinking. They want to hug me, but they won't. They know that I'm still, after four years, not ready for it.

Sighing at the exact same second, they walk out of my bedroom and close the door with a gentile click.

I hear Claire De Lune playing softly from inside my library still.

I toss the once-irresistible tray of food back onto the bed where Angela had it and I beg the tears not to fall as I pour myself a glass of much-needed whiskey, but the tears don't comply with my demands.

I unlock the library door and enter, to drink and smoke until dinnertime. And cry. As quietly and resentfully as I can manage, I cry.

* * *

><p><strong>Aw, baby! Don't cry!<br>Just kidding, I MADE him do it :b  
>Mwahahahahaha<strong>

**Anyways, do you understand Edward a bit more? Let's review:  
>1. Edward's numbero uno priority is Layla, Michael and Jordan.<br>2. Edward smokes, drinks and reads Hamlet. Sexy, if you ask me.  
>3. Carlisle isn't Edward's real father, but Esme is his real mother. Also, he is the youngest. (Did Esme cheat on Carlisle?)<br>4. Edward had a bad experience with his real father, Aro.  
>5. The McDonald's (Jane Alec Jenna Jonny) aren't Edward's biggest fan. Neither is Rosalie or James.<br>6. Jasper is in the war. D:  
>7. Edward has pretty much given up on giving a fuck about Bella's presence... until his issue with his godchildren is resolved.<br>8. Esme and the Godkids are the only ones who can touch Edward.  
>9. Alice, Angela and Emmett are Edward's only loyal siblings. Also Jasper, but he's not here.<br>10. Edward's library is LOCKED. Hm...  
><strong>

**Next chapter is Bella's POV again! You get to see what they were talking about when Edward heard them in Angela's room and slammed his door (remember?), and you get to see lunch with the Cullen family (minus Edward, obviously). And Rose and Jane don't like Bella... see how this comes about.**

Longest AN ever, I know.  
>Review if you would be so kind!<p> 


	8. Family Bonding, Beauty

**Whoa.  
>I have a billion excuses for why I haven't updated in a zillion years.<br>But I'm not going to bore you with them.  
>Anyways, here's chapter 8. Alice interrogation, Bella's new room, &amp; lunch for the rest of the family &amp; Bella included!<br>Oh, and a few sexy-ish Alice-Rosalie lines, too. Hope you don't think it's too weird. I went out on a limb!  
><strong>

**I've filled up a notebook with this story, and Chapter 8 was half in the old one and half in the new one... I'm almost through the second notebook too. Which I'm liking a lot better than the first! I can only get better from here, I guess!  
><strong>

**Excuse shitty spelling or anything... I have no beta and rushed my ass off to get this posted ASAP.**

**More rambling at the bottom. For now, go read! :b  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Chapter 8<p>

Family Bonding

Beauty

* * *

><p>After explaining my situation to Angela and Alice, the kids falling asleep on the bed soon after I began my relatively dull tale, they both without falter declared that I would be staying with them at the Cullen mansion indefinitely.<p>

I have a ton of questions to ask, most regarding the beast, but Alice doesn't let up her excited questioning long enough for me to voice them.

When did your father die?

This morning.

How did you get to the playroom upstairs without anyone noticing?

No idea.

Don't you have any friends or family?

Nope and nope.

Angela sits back and listens to our back and forth Q&A. She is alternating rubbing her kids' backs and running her hand through her hair.

"Bella," she interrupts just before Alice tries to fire out her next question. "I'm sure you have a question or two for us, right? Alice?" she says as if reading my mind.

"Oh, of course!" Alice smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, Belle," she says, on her third experimentation with nicknames for Isabella.

"It's okay, I'm just a bit overwhelmed right now. I do have a few questions, though…" I admit, rubbing my temples in circles.

"I'm sure the first one's about Edward's face." Angela assumes, staring at her lap.

Obviously. I nod. "But I understand how that wouldn't be your story to tell." And I mean it, even though the curiosity will eat at me.

"Well what your next question?" Alice asks, not easily deterred.

"You said I can stay here…" I confirm, the end of my sentence trailing off into some sort of question.

"Of course!" Alice smiles, patting my knee. We're all three squeezed in between the three sleeping children. Jordan's deafening snores are almost comical.

"Wh—" I begin, but am quickly interrupted by a bang, sounding like an angry door slam. I swallow thickly and before I can gather myself enough to continue, another door slams, more muffled than the last.

Michael blinks and sits up, Angela's left hand falling from his back. He pulls his feet up out of Alice's lap and pulls his knees up to his chin. "Mom?" he mutters, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

Angela looks at me apologetically and tosses her left arm around her son's shoulders. "Hi, honey," she smiles. He yawns and looks around, stopping when he sees me. He seems to deliberate for a second before tentatively waving at me from just a few feet away.

I, slightly surprised, wave back. "Hi, Michael."

"Hi, Bella," he looks to his mom questioningly. "Bella's still here." He observes, wrapping his arms around his legs and looking at me like he's trying to figure me out.

"Yep!" Alice exclaims, giddy again. She looks at her wristwatch. "Well, it's nearly noon. Let me show you to your room?" she hops off the bed and stretches her tiny frame.

I imitate her, but with less energy.

Angela crawls to the end of the bed, careful not to stir the sleeping children, and follows after Alice out the door, tugging me along. I feel Michael behind us.

I look back over my shoulder at Jordan and Layla. "They'll nap until they have to change for lunch," Angela says to me, catching my look.

Alice clasps her hands together and dances out into the hallway, her sister, nephew and I following.

After Angela twists around to flick off the lights and close her bedroom door, Alice turns around to face us. "But first… the Grand Cullen Tour!" she smiles.

I nod and return her smile. She opens the door immediately next to Angela's and grandly gestures for me to look. "This," she dramatically announces, "is my bedroom."

Michael rolls his eyes and walks past us toward the silent playroom.

I feel Angela beside me as I peek into Alice's bedroom. The walls are a childish hot pink, but the very adult lace trim levels it out. There's a giant stereo in the corner and a grand queen sized bed in the middle of the room.

I find it strange that Alice's bed is bigger than Angela's, since Alice could fit in a twin sized bed three times easily.

I voice my question and their eyes lower to the ground.

Oh crap.

"My husband, James," Angela starts, "lives in the cabin just outside the house, still on the property. He hunts for the food, which Esme makes. There's not much to be hunted recently; it's been an unseasonably cool spring. But the kids and I sometimes go to his place an satay the night. Never does he sleep up here. That's why I have a twin bed." She sighs, closing Alice's door and leafing us to the door immediately next to it, third in a long row of doors.

"Esme?" I ask.

"Our mom, you'll meet her later." Alice explains, walking into the next room.

"My husband, Jasper, is in the army so I don't see him too often. But when he's home, he's home for awhile. Which is why my bed is a bit bigger. A king size would be a bit ridiculous for someone my size to occupy alone." She smiles sadly at me.

I look around the room and notice that there are 5 mirrored desks lining the walls, each matched with a coordinating chair. The desks are cluttered with makeup, hair gels, stylers and jewelry.

One of the chairs is occupied by the pregnant blond from earlier who is staring up at us. At me.

"Hello," I say, trying to smile friendly.

"Hello." She replies coldly.

"This is my sister, Rose," Alice introduces, skipping over to her and perching on the desk.

"Sister _in law_, Alice." Rose corrects. "And it's _Rosalie_."

Angela sighs. "Anyways, Bella. This is the vanity room, where all us girls congregate to put our faces and wigs on in the morning. You can almost always find Rosalie in here. It is, after all, the _vanity_ room. It's practically her bedroom." Angela rolls her eyes.

And Rosalie has all the reason in the world to be vain. I've never seen a more gorgeous woman than her! The only people in Forks that even came close were illustrations of princesses from old Quileute legends and fairy tale books. Her golden wavy hair could pass for a wig and her facial bone structure appears to have been carved out of stone and her body, even with the very swollen tummy, is to die for…

Rude throat clearing interrupts my ogling. Rosalie is staring me down in the mirror and Alice and Angela are looking a mix between annoyed and amused next to her. I'm still standing in the doorway.

I feel my cheeks blush and drop my eyes to my sock-covered feet. "Sorry," I mumble.

"She is pretty hot!" Alice giggles. I look up in time to see Rosalie rolls her eyes and bring a mascara wand up to one of her shocking blue orbs. "You know, Bella," Alice continues, "Rosalie's bi. She and I used to make out and fuck around and stuff at parties all the time before she married my brother. I'm sure if you ask nicely, she'll let you experiment too, as long as her horndog husband can watch!" I blink in shock. Is she joking?

"Fuck off, Alice." Rosalie mutters, but looks otherwise unaffected, blinking rapidly to dry her mascara.

"Fine," she huffs playfully, hopping down from the desk. "Ladies? Shall we continue our grand tour?" she dances out the door, not waiting for a response.

"Bye, Rosalie," I whisper, scurrying out the room in embarrassment.

I follow Angela and Alice directly across the hallway, skipping the other doors further down. On the door to the tippy left of the hallway directly across from Angela's room, a red "Keep Out" sign is on the floor. I walk toward it, ignoring the hum of Alice's ramblings.

"Bells!" she gasps when I pick the sign up. I turn around to face her. "Come ON! I have to show you your room!" she motions in front of her. I carry the sign with me to her and Angela takes it out of my hands when I approach.

I follow Alice into the room, the second of three doors on this side of the hallway, and a shocking door-less distance away from the Keep Out door.

"So?" Alice smiles, turning back to look at me. "What do you think? It WAS the guest room up until now so it's obviously not personalized for you quite yet, but Esme used to be an interior decorator so we'll work on it. She cleans in here every day along with the other un-permanently-occupied rooms so it should be in tip-top shape. Through here…" she opens the door at the far back wall similar to the bathroom of the kids' room where I put my stuff earlier, "is the bathroom. Tub-slash-shower, sink, toilet obviously, fully stocked with tooth brush, hair brush, towels, soap, tampons, shampoos, mouthwash and anything else you might need you can just let me know, right? For now you can just wear Angela and Jane's clothes—Jane's my other sister who will probably fit you the best, but she's kind of a bitch, but not like Rose-bitch. But let's go get your wardrobe stocked and then you can shower before lunch, okay? Oh, this is so exciting, Beya! I love you already!"

I blink. "Uh-huh…"

Alice giggles and grabs my hand, pulling me out into the hallway again. Angela grins as she approaches us from the direction of the vanity room.

"Angela, will you grab some clothes from your and Jane's room for Bella? You can start putting them in the dresser, I'll be in in a second." Alice calls, towing me into the room immediately next to "mine". When we step in, she tows me straight to the back door. The kids' room's bathroom.

"You said you put your things in here, right?" she knocks on the back door and I nod.

"Who is it?" Jenna's prissy voice calls.

"It's Aunt Alice and Bella! We have to get her stuff from in there. How long are you going to be, girl?" Alice calls.

The door opens and Jenna steps out in a fluffy pink towel wrapped around her tiny body. The word "Princess" is sewed into the fabric.

"Go ahead." Jenna walks past us and to a dresser next to the bed she was sleeping in earlier.

Alice is back out with all my things in her tiny arms before I can even walk in the door.

"Come on, Bella!" she calls from the front door of the room already.

Jane drops her towel and begins to dress and I quickly advert my eyes to Alice's retreating figure in front of me. I hurry to follow.

She disappears into my new bedroom and I close the kids' room door behind me before making my way to it, slightly wary and apprehensive.

Angela and Alice, I find, are hard at work moving and organizing my things and a huge pile of clothes around the room.

A few quick minutes go by and Alice and Angela push me into the bathroom and instruct me to meet them in the vanity room when I'm squeaky clean.

Clean, showered, dressed, poked and prodded at, and pretty enough by Alice's standards for lunch, I finally get to breathe.

But straightened hair, full drag make up and a day dress for a late 1:30 lunch? Really?

Layla and Jordan, now up and dressed for lunch as well, lead me by the hands downstairs with Alice, Michael and Angela on our tail.

Jenna and Jonny's mom gives me a hostile glare as I sit down between Layla and Jordan at the long table.

"That's Jane." Angela whispers in my ear as she walks past me to go sit directly across from Layla on my right. I notice that the head of the table to my left, one seat down from Jordan, is empty. Across from me, in order, sits from left to right: the big guy who grabbed the beast in the playroom, then the beautiful, sour-looking Rosalie, next to an eerie looking blonde man who's hands are all over his wife next to him, Angela, then a very quiet, uptight man who's undoubtedly Jena's husband, who's perched in the seat next to him, then Alice, and finally another empty chair. At the right head of the table there sits a handsome gray-blond older man. Starting at my side of the table, from the right, is: Cate, Jenna and Jonny, Michael, Layla, me, and Jordan, and the empty head. I feel chills when I realize I'm sitting so close to the beast's spot.

It doesn't escape my notice that I'm seated with the children, either. But I don't mind. I actually prefer it.

The table is alive with chatter and all I can do is hold my breath, waiting for the beast's attendance.

"Bella," Angela calls me and my eyes snap up. No one else is looking our way. "Relax." she mouths and I try to.

"What's your favorite food?" Layla asks, looking up at me from her tall plastic booster seat.

"Um…" I try to decide, "I make pasta—well, I used to make pasta—for my dad all the time. It was our favorite." I smile down at her.

"Fabulous! Pasta for dinner!" a sweet honey voice exclaims from the entry way to the dining room. I look up to see an older woman with light brown and red hair up in an elegant bun walking into the room. She ducks in next to the older man at the head of the table to peck his cheek and passes him to walk around the now hushed table, coming to a stop behind my chair.

I just sit, looking at her, unsure of what to do. She leans in for a hug and I try to maneuver my body into a less awkward position to reciprocate.

She pulls back. "I'm Esme, dear. Welcome to our home" she smiles genuinely and I can't help but smile back.

"Thank you, Esme. I'm Bella."

"Oh, I know that, sweetheart. Have you met everyone?" she asks, gesturing to the line of adults in front of me.

"I've met Alice, Angela and Rosalie." I admit, looking down at my hands awkwardly.

"Well that's just unacceptable!" the bug guy in front of Jordan booms, standing up and taking giant steps toward me. Before I can even twitch, he's pulling me up and shaking my hand violently with tangible excitement.

"I'm Emmett, coolest guy in the bunch here, besides my dad." He winks and me and Esme laughs.

"Introduce her to everyone, honey, I'm going to bring out the soup." Esme announces, dancing back into the kitchen.

"Well, Bella, you've already met the best person here, but I guess I could introduce you to the rest of these losers." He pulls me around to where he was sitting leaving Layla giggling in her chair and Jordan silently watching me from the other side of my now-empty chair.

"You've met my bangin' wife Rose, round with the incredible product of my seed," he announces, swooping down to kiss Rosalie obnoxiously on the mouth. She glares for a second but doesn't retort.

"This is Angela's husband James." He continues down the line.

"Hello, Isabella." James sneers. I get the feeling it's an attempt at seduction, but I notice his left hand on Angela's thigh so I must be mistaken.

"Hello, James." I politely smile.

"You know Angie here." Emmett pats the top of her head as she stiffly shakes it off, muttering "idiot".

"This is my brother in law, Alec, and my sister Jane," he continues.

Alec stands up politely as we pass to shake my hand and say, "nice to meet you, honey."

"He's the family doctor, in case you fall down the stairs or get bitten by a rabid wolf or something." Emmett winks and I gulp.

"My darling mother sits here," he gestures to the empty chair next to Jane at the end of the side's line up. He pats the shoulder of the amused looking man at the head of the table. Esme's husband, I assume.

"And this is Pops. My dad, Carlisle Cullen." Emmett smiles like a child, dimples and all.

"It's so nice to meet you, Bella, dear. I hope you're feeling welcome." He smiles handsomely, standing up to shake my hair more warmly than Alec's professional grip.

"Yes, very," I slightly extend the truth. I can nearly feel Jane and Rosalie's red hot glare on my face.

"Good," he nods and sits back down, as Esme carries out a stack of 17 empty glass bowls, six a tad smaller than average and two a tad larger.

As Emmett and I go back to our seats, Esme places the tiny bowls in front of the six kids, skipping me. She places a regular sized bowl in front of me, and continues to distribute them to her husband and kids and in laws. Finally, she sets the two large bowls in front of Emmett and Rosalie.

Emmett grins up at his mom like a child with crazy excited eyes, but his wife smacks the table forcefully. Everyone shuts up their meaningless chatter and looks to the source of the outburst. Rosalie is standing up, hands on her wide hips.

"A _large_ bowl, Esme? Really?" she hisses.

Esme warily sighs, closing her eyes for the slightest second before trying to guide her daughter-in-law's shoulder down back into the chair. Rosalie complies, but crosses her arms, huffing. "You're eating for two, dear." Esme reminds gently.

"I'm not a goddamn _cow_, Esme." She growls.

Emmett speaks up, seemingly immune to Rosalie's glare. "Don't talk to my mom like that, babe." He says, rubbing her arm soothingly.

I speak up quickly without thought, trying to diffuse the imminent drama. "I'll trade with you, Rosalie." I offer. "I haven't eaten today and I could easily eat a whole big bowl." I mutter, looking down at my hands in my lap. Everyone's quiet for a second.

"See, babe? No problamo." Emmett booms, leaping up with his wife's bowl and bringing it to me to switch. "Thanks, Bella!" he smiles, looking relieved. "I like this one!" he announces to no one in particular, making his way back to Rosalie's side.

"No problamo" I whisper.

Esme comes through the kitchen doorway—I hadn't noticed that she even left—with a giant pot, mitted hands grasping the handles. She sets it down in the middle of the table between Alec and Angela, where there's an already pretty spacey gap, and uses the giant scooper spoon in the pot to pour thick tomato soup into first Carlisle's, then Alice, Jane and Alec's, and continuing to fill everyone's bowl. She slyly fills Rosalie's to the absolute brim, but her shocking blue eyes are too intensely fixed on me to even notice. I squirm under her gaze.

Esme walks around the rest of the table and fills her grandchildren's bowls, with warnings of "it's hot", "be careful" and "blow on it" to each. Everyone's chatter has started again and they begin to eat.

When she reaches me, Esme only fills my bowl about two-thirds of the way, as much as soup as a medium bowl would have, and winks at me. After filling Jordan's, and finally hers at the other end of the table, she goes back into the kitchen. I feel uncomfortable eating until she sits down so I observe everyone around me.

Jordan doesn't look too uncomfortable in his isolation away from his mother and cousins. I notice him glance up at me every few seconds, immediately looking back down at his food when he sees me looking back, just to look back up again a few seconds later.

Layla is chattering away with her mom, who's straight across from her, nodding enthusiastically at whatever her daughter is saying. Angela catches my eye and winks, though looking just the slightest tinge uneasy.

James, sharing the spot right across from me with Rosalie, is staring at me with his beady blue eyes. I shiver and look away. I get a weird feeling I can't place with that one.

Rosalie and Emmett are scarfing down their soup without coming up for air. I sigh in relief at her glare not being directed at me for that second.

Esme walks back in before I can observe the rest of the table with a stack of all-one-sized glass plates in one hand and a towering dish of grilled cheese sandwiches in the other. She sets the plate of sandwiches near the soup pot and distributes the plates like the bowls. I watch her work, feeling uncomfortable being the only one seated and not eating, but not rude enough to eat before she sits down herself. Esme catches my gaze from Alice's seat.

When she starts distributing the plates and sandwiches near me, she whispers in my ear nonchalantly, "What's wrong, sweetheart? Don't like the soup? I could make you something different, it's no problem." I'm shaking my head before she even finishes.

"Of course not, I'm just waiting for you to sit down." I assure her. She smiles and pats my hand in a motherly fashion.

"You're too sweet, Bella." She finished distributing and goes back to her seat next to her husband. She sits down in her chair and dramatically brings a spoonful of soup to her mouth, looking at me pointedly before putting it in her mouth.

I giggle to myself and pick up my spoon to dig in. Eventually I join in the kids' meaningless ramblings, still a bit too uncomfortable to speak freely with the adults at my own initiation.

"Bella!" Alice calls from her place at Esme's right. A few others join her in looking at me, probably bored in their own conversations.

"When's your birthday?" she asks, not waiting for acknowledgement from me. "We're bit on birthdays. You said you're 16, right? When do you turn 17?" she bounces slightly in her seat.

I gulp. Uh-oh. "It just passed, Alice, sorry. Who's birthday is coming up?" I try to change the object of the direction.

"Cate turns three on the 10th, Wednesday. But we already treat her like she's three years old, right Cate?" Esme smiles at her granddaughter right across from her, who nods and grins enthusiastically with dimples like Emmett.

"But when is _your_ birthday, Bella?" Alice presses.

I sigh. I don't want to lie to them.

"Today," I admit, quietly. By now everyone is listening to the conversation. "April 6th. Though I was born in the morning, my father told me. So my birth anniversary has already come and gone." I reason.

I risk a glance up from my sandwich in my hand and see Alice's feisty glare. "It's your birthday_ today_?" she squeals, hopping up.

I stare, wide eyed and a bit scared. She looks caught between extreme excitement and extreme anger. She reminds me of a black-haired Tinker Bell.

"Alice, honey." Esme looks up to her daughter next to her.

Alice doesn't seem to hear. "Layla! Jenna! Cate! Come, ladies, we have to plan!" she skips off towards the stairs, food forgotten.

Layla smiles wide and tries to scoot down from her seat dutifully but I hold her in place.

"Alice, please—" I start to beg.

"Carlisle, will you?" Esme says sighing. Carlisle stands up from his seat and commands the girls to stay seated with one grandfatherly look. Everyone has pretty much gone back to their own conversations at this point, aside from Rosalie and Emmett whose faces are still buried in their food.

"Mary Alice Cullen Hale!" Carlisle commands. She prances back to him.

"Yes, Daddy?" she gives him a wide innocent gaze. Puppy dog eyes. The same looks she used on me in order to get full rein on my hair, makeup and clothes for lunch. I hate that look.

"Sit down, Alice." He says. You can plan after lunch. Dinner isn't until 7." He sits down and adverts his eyes so he's not swayed by the look. Must be a pro.

She pouts. "Fine."

I blink at the rapid pace of which this family does things.

"Alice, please don't. This has been a stressful enough day in itself, the added excitement would just serve to further overwhelm me. Keep it light. Please." I try to bargain.

Alice looks torn, but contemplative and I catch Angela's calm grin directed at me. Once we lock eyes she flinches with a grimace and I notice James looking between us with an alarmingly creepy look on his face.

"Can I help you, Isabella?" he drawls, seeming to glance down at my chest.

I shake my head "no" frantically and continue eating.

After everyone ate—and Emmett and Rosalie scarfed down seconds…and thirds— everyone gradually got up to leave. First Alec, kissing Jane's cheek before walking upstairs. Then James, who leans into Angela's hair and whispers in her ear while his eerie stare is glued to me, before he slithers into the kitchen and I hear a door whoosh closed, so I assume he went back to his cabin. Jane, Jonny and Jenna leave next, the kids kissing Esme's cheek with hurried "thank you for lunch" 's before running upstairs to play, Jane following while smoothing her sleek blond bob with her hands. Emmett hops up and waits for Rosalie to lead him upstairs. He smiles at me cheekily and her glare is smothering. Cate hops up and follows them, grasping on to her father's other hand and giggling when he scoops her up and over his shoulder, earning a smack from his wife. Michael slinks off silently not much later.

The only people left at the table at this point are Angela, Alice, Carlisle, Layla, Jordan and I. Esme is fluttering around, picking up empty plates and bowls and stacking them.

She looks up after a minute of silence, pausing.

"Who wants to help clean?" she smiles at her two grandkids sitting on either side of me.

I feel a confused look on my face. What kids would actually _want_ to clean?"

To my surprise, both of the kids grin and hop out of their seats and run into the kitchen around Esme.

Catching my look, Carlisle chuckles. "If they help clean the kitchen, Esme gives them dessert. Works ever time." He stands up and put his arm around his wife, kissing her chastely on the lips. "I'll be in the study. Come get me when you're done cleaning." He smiles, walking off.

Pausing, he turns back around. "Bella," he starts and my eyes flash up, "Please do make yourself at home. If anyone else gives you and more trouble" he emphasizes, "do not hesitate to let me know. You're our guest. You should be comfortable." He looks at me for a second. "Okay?" he prompts.

I blink. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

He returns my smile and continues to his downstairs study.

"Alice! Angela!" their mother calls from the kitchen, interrupting their excited conversation.

"Yes?" Angela calls back, stacking her and Alice's plates, along with whatever other silverware is around her.

"Bring in some of the dishes, will you? And send in Bella!" she demands distractedly. I gather my and Jordan's plates, bowls, silverware and cups before heading off into the kitchen without further prompt.

Alice stops me on my way past her. "Do you prefer chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry, B?" she attempts nonchalance.

I try to rack my brain for a quick, polite denial…

"Don't even think about denying me, Bella!" she calls me out, "Chocolate, vanilla or strawberry?" her face now looks kind of wild.

I give in. "I'm allergic to strawberry?" I offer.

She nods seriously. "Chocolate-vanilla it is." She mutters before helping her sister stack the rest of the cups in a tall stack.

Angela sends me a quick apologizing look before getting sucked back in by Hurricane Alice.

I follow Esme's previous path into the kitchen and stare at what I see, almost dropping the things in my hands.

The kitchen is done in gorgeous deep reds and shiny silvers. The light is let in by two sliding glass doors with no shades or curtain to shield the midafternoon sun—even though the clouds and trees do a bit of shielding themselves. I notice that the downpour from earlier has slown to a quickly subsiding drizzle before I focus my attention of studying the rest of the spectacular kitchen.

The countertops are fancy dark granite, shiny and reflective. Dark brown wood cabinets that match the pantry doors gape open, half-filled with glasses, plates and bowls. The center island is covered in leftovers from lunch, Esme dressing a single plate with plastic wrap. I notice the kids at the sink—Layla washing, Jordan drying, the dishes.

"Hi, Bella!" Layla calls over her shoulder from her spot standing on a barstool.

Jordan shyly smiles at me from behind his long shaggy hair, standing like Layla on a barstool.

"Oh, sweetheart!" Esme exclaims, "Will you help us? I have to run Alice and Angela upstairs real quick and I'm sure the kids could use an extra set of hands." she smiles up at me before wrapping a cup of tomato soup like she did the plate of grilled cheese.

"Sure, what do you want me to do?" I haven't forgotten my original plan—work in exchange for shelter and food—though I wouldn't mention it to Esme.

"Will you put away the dishes after Jordan dries them? The cracked cabinets are where everything goes," she turns to the fridge to place the majority of the wrapped leftover soup in, tossing the grilled cheeses in the silver trash bin and leaving the individually wrapped soup on the island countertop.

Right as I nod and she grabs a towel to wipe down the granite topped surface, Alice and Angela glide in, stacks of plates, bowls, glasses and silverware in hand. They drop their stacks down next to Layla, adding to her already high pile of dirty dishes to clean. She groans softly, grabbing the next one in her stack and scrubbing the bowl furiously.

I get to work locating the stack of Jordan's already dry plates and bowls. Esme and her daughters chat away in hushed whispers near the sliding glass doors while Layla and Jordan hum a song from The Wizard of Oz.

"Bella," Jordan softly mutters, calling me.

I pause in my tip-toed position at the farthest cabinet and turn around to face him. "Yes?"

He tries to get down from the barstool alone and I rush to him to help him so he doesn't face plant onto the hardwood floor. Just as I reach him, the stool begins to wobble and shake. I scoop him up in my arms just a millisecond before it fell. He wraps his hands around my neck and hangs, so I wrap my arms around his tiny body and hug him back, a bit confused at the display.

"What's wrong?" I whisper, a bit panicked.

Layla turns around to face us, wiping her hands on Jordan's drying towel. "Jordan's just telling you he loves you. He never really talks. He speaks Jordan Language." She explains. "Mommy!" she exclaims as Angela approaches. She scoops her daughter up and kisses the top of her head before standing her back on the stool, keeping her hand on her waist.

Alice walks up and puts her chin on my non-Jordan shoulder. "She's right, B," her hands form a little cradle for her chin on my shoulder and I hear her sigh happily. "He never lets anyone but me, my mom or Edward hold him. This is huge for him. It takes Jazzy a few weeks even sometimes to get back on Jordan's love list." She makes a dreamy content sound like she seems to do whenever she talks about her husband.

Esme follows up behind Angela and hands her the wrapped plate and bowl from the island, giving her a strong look.

Angela nods and releases her hold on her daughter, who's back to scrubbing and running dishes under the faucet.

Alice also extracts herself from me and starts to walk out of the kitchen through the dining room doorway, following Angela. I hear their whispers until they reach the stairs.

Esme pulls the barstool where Jordan was just standing back in front of the island, motioning for me to sit down.

"It might be awhile, honey. If he's not already asleep, he will be in a minute." She walks next to Layla as I move to sit down, taking over both Jordan and my dry-and-put-away jobs.

I navigate Jordan so he's got his legs bent at the knee and body twisted in my lap so he can continue his face cuddling into my shoulder. His arms are so lose around my neck that I fear that if I jostle they'll fall.

For a few minutes, I watch as Esme and her granddaughter finish cleaning up—first the dishes, then wiping up the dining room table and kitchen countertops, and finally using Clorox wipes to clean the stovetop and other miscellaneous shiny surfaces.

Layla skips up to me and Esme follows, lifting her up to the barstool that they had placed next to me in front of the island before.

"Dessert time?" Esme asks, walking back to the fridge.

"Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah!" Layla chants, bouncing and clapping in her seat. For a split second I wonder how she could not be 100% Alice's asexual daughter, or miniature clone—aside from the blond curly hair and hazel eyes that Alice definitely doesn't have.

Esme smiles and opens the refrigerator door. She calls back to me, "Will you wake Jordan up? Alice usually doesn't let him sleep in the afternoons more than once. Plus, he'll be upset when he sees he missed dessert, this is his favorite." She pulls out a mango and closes the door. "Just rub his back and move him around gently for a minute, he'll come around." She pulls out a knife from a drawer and cutting board, carrying all three to the island.

I follow her directions and, like she said, Jordan wakes up. He blinks a few times and looks up to my face. I hesitantly smile and he turns in my lap, facing Esme without a visible or audible response. I try not to feel offended, and he grabs the edge of my sundress at his side, keeping me to him in his own kinesthetic way of recognition.

Esme rips off four paper towels from a roll on a silver hook on the side of the island and lays them out in front of her, plopping a piece of mango on each rectangle. She passes them to us as all four of us eat, after quick "thank you" 's from me and Layla.

"Bella," Esme looks at me, "I find it very hard to believe that you don't have siblings or children. You've gotten all of my grandbabies under your spell in just a few hours! Are you sure you have no children? You seem to have the magic maternal touch."

She innocently smiles as I nearly choke. I'm a _virgin_. "I'm _sure_" I assure her. "I'm not married, and I only turned sixteen today." I blush, poking at my mango.

"I love Bella!" Layla announces. She looks over at me, "I love you Bella." She smiles, showing off her mango-smushed teeth.

My eyes go wide as I watch her go back to her food without further pause.

"Uh, thanks." I mutter.

Esme giggles and I hear Alice and Angela enter the kitchen.

"Ooh, mango!" Alice picks a slice off her son's towel, and Angela stealing one from her daughter.

"Mommy!" Layla scolds. She picks up her remaining 3 slices and gives them all a dramatic lick. "Mine," she puts them back down. Angela rolls her eyes.

"Who wants to play outside?" Angela asks.

Layla throws her hand up high in the air. "Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" she squeals.

I feel Jordan retreat into my chest.

Alice notices and reflects Layla's energy. "Well go ask your cousins! We passed them all in the playroom." She lifts her niece up and to the ground.

As she runs off, Angela calls, "but hurry! It might rain again!" before sitting in Layla's stool and devouring her forgotten mango slices.

Esme's giggles turn into a sigh. I look up to see her picking up everyone's now empty soggy paper towels and sniffling.

"Esme, what's wrong?" I ask. Alice sighs beside me.

"She always gets upset like this. 'Oh you all are growing up so fast!'" she imitates her mother lovingly with a teasing tone.

Esme just tosses the paper towels in the trash and moves to the sink to wash the knife and cutting boards. "Oh, hush, Alice, soon you'll be saying the same thing about Jordan," she huffs, sniffling.

"I know, Mom," she admits.

Layla comes rushing in the kitchen with her brother, Jonny and Cate trailing. They all have Velcro sneakers on.

"Can we play outside now, Mommy?" Layla pulls on her mom's green cotton sundress, matching my blue one and Alice's pink one. Mine's a bit too loose and short, due to it being Angela's spare.

"Yup!" she hops off the stool and holds her hand out for Cate to hold. "Where's Jenna? Not coming?"

Jonny speaks up, "she's drawing a picture for my momma. She has a migraine." He informs us, looking at Michael for approval, who smiles briefly to pacify him.

Alice clasps her hands. "Well what are we waiting for? Let's go play!" she ushers the kids and Angela to the sliding glass door. "Bella? Jordan?"

I bounce him on my knee. "I think we're going to go read, actually. Right, Jordan?" he nods.

Alice shrugs and closes the sliding glass doors behind her, running off after the kids and her sister to the jungle gym in the grass.

Esme turns to me once the kitchen is silent again. "Jane doesn't actually have a migraine. Alec's a doctor—not licensed anymore, but still a doctor to us—so she is rarely actually ill. She just likes the attention. And the excuse to not do anything." She chuckles. "I'm going to speak with Rose about the baby's nursery for a while. You two are going to the playroom?" I nod. "Well dinner's at 7, though I'm sure Alice, Angela and Layla will be back in to give you another costume change before then!" she chuckles and walks out of the kitchen and upstairs. I set Jordan on the floor, standing up next to him.

He looks up at me with his big brown eyes and lifts his hands up in the air in a "carry me" motion. I sigh and comply, toting him up the stairs and into the playroom. He smiles at me and rests his head on my shoulder in return.

* * *

><p><strong>Uh... worth the wait? <strong>**No? Okay.**

**Well I hope you liked Emmett's ridiculousness, Rosalie's bitchiness, and Bella meeting everyone.**

**Was the Alice and Rosalie thing too much?**

**I wrote Chapter 11 and am still deliberating whether to write a Bella masturbation scene... eh, I'm a bit uneasy, but at the same time I feel it's kind of necessary? But not totally... ugh I don't know.** **I've never written anything like that. Would it be weird if I wrote it in? Right now the chapter's only like, a few short paragraphs... I can send you PM of what I have so far if you want!  
><strong>

**Next chapter is "Dinner at 7" from Edward's POV.  
><strong>

**He's nice Edward! And it's a really fucking long chapter.  
><strong>

**Is it weird that Day 1 of the story is still going on through Chapter 11? I'm pretty far into Chapter 12 right now, but it's taken up half my new notebook!  
><strong>

**This has been my longest chapter yet. Whoa. The writing is easy, but the typing it up kills me. I don't have a desk right now so I have to type in awkward positions, like I am now.**

**I'm gonna shut up now. Review if you want to help me make this story better. Or if you're just feeling nice. Or are taking pity on me. I'll take what I can get.**


	9. Dinner at 7, Beast

**it is 5:41am  
>I have been writing this for like 8 straight hours<br>I am about to drop dead  
>I can't even open my eyes all the way<br>You better fucking LOVE this chapter or all my suffering will have been in vain  
>And I hope you enjoy all the misspellings and grammar mistakes<br>And, as promised, the Braless Bella and Shirtless Edward scene  
>Excuse me while I curl up in a ball and never wake up<br>**

* * *

><p>Chapter 9<p>

Dinner at 7

Beast

My monkey suit is nearly suffocating me as I sulk my way down the stairs.

Fucking Alice. I feel like a penguin.

Is it really necessary to be in full fucking drag for an hour-long meal in the house? Who is there to fucking impress?

Well… besides today.

I can't get myself to think about Bella right now. Due to more pressing matters, any thoughts of her have remained at the back of my head. My only current priority is getting Layla, Michael and Jordan back in my graces—and getting Alice and Angela to forgive me in turn.

I look up at the living room clock—quarter till 7. High-pitched chatter is coming from the kitchen and I smell pasta and meat sauce… my absolute favorite dish. Could they be making an effort to loosen me up? I try not to let the thought comfort me… or piss me off.

I knock on the door to my father's study, twisting the knob when I hear his slightly distracted "come in".

"Dad," I stand in the doorway, watching him follow a line in a thick book before stopping and marking his place with a Kodak photo. It's of me and Emmett as babies, I've seen the picture a hundred times. He closes the book.

"Sit, son. What's up?" he gestures to the big leather chair in front of his desk, clasping his hands over the big book in front of him.

I sit and avoid his eye. "Dinner's in fifteen minutes." I state, as if he didn't already know. Obviously Alice had gotten ahold of him, because he's looking very uptight in a silver-tinted suit that matches my navy one in design.

"Yes, it is." He acknowledges, unmoving. "And you're nervous about being able to control your temper." I meet his gaze and hunch over.

"Yeah," I allow, letting him come to his own conclusion.

"And you're hoping I'll give you a Xanex." He states dryly, obviously disapproving.

I shrug.

"Here's a test, Edward," he sits up straight, staring at me as if waiting to observe a reaction, "no."

I close my eyes, trying to judge my involuntary reaction. We've practiced this in earlier sessions.

I just feel tired, drained.

"Adderall?" I try to joke.

My father chuckles at the tension. "Sorry, son. Emmett's prescription is getting low." He jokes back.

I open my eyes and we're quiet for a few minutes. He knows I'll talk on my own.

"I freaked out with Jordan near twice today. He tried to hit me, defending the girl." I sigh. "But I didn't hit him, Dad." I point out.

"I know," he allows, "but do you think that's some sort of _accomplishment_? Something to be _rewarded_? I don't think you'd be here right now if you _had_ hit him, son. In fact, I'd be the one to take you out myself!" he stares at me, trying to gauge my emotions.

I sigh. "You're right."

We're quiet for a few more minutes.

"And Layla… I practically exploded on her personally!" I lean my elbows on my knees and bury my head in my hands.

"You did," he says, "and Michael…" he prompts me.

"Michael knew, he fucking _expected_ that I would freak out. He _anticipates_ my temper!" I spit, pulling at my hair.

My father sighs, pausing. "And Cate? Jonny? Jenna?"

"They fucking hate me anyways. What's one more negative tick?" I continue to mumble, my mouth covered by my arms.

"So, you're just giving up on them." He states judgmentally.

My head whips up. "What else can I do, Dad?" I spit. "Rose, Jane and Alec would turn them against me even if their kids _did_ like me." I sit up straight, defensively, crossing my arms over my chest.

Carlisle raises her eyebrows at me, silent until I relax.

"We'll work on that later then," he decides, making a note on a pad at the corner of his desk. I roll my eyes. For the past 3 years he has been my makeshift therapist. Probably makes him feel good so he doesn't resent that his PhD went to waste when he moved in with me.

I nod my head, sighing.

A knock on the door brings us out of our silence.

"Yes?" my father calls, looking up at the clock. 6:59.

"Dinner's ready!" Emmett calls, "I'm ready to chow down right _now_!" his voice carries away as he, I'm sure, scurries to the dining room.

Dad rises and I follow. We walk in silence to the dining room and stops me right outside. We look at each other. I'm taller than him by a good foot, but he still seems bigger than me; must be a dad thing.

I take a deep breath and he nods, patting my shoulder and walking to his seat at the table.

Slowly, I enter the room, taking my time to observe everyone.

My dad is sitting down at the head of the table opposite mine. He's talking to his granddaughter Cate, who's sitting to his left.

Next to Cate, Jenna and Jonny are bickering over god-knows-what. Typical.

Michael next to them is leaned over to his left, where Layla sits high in her booster seat, also facing left, smiling.

I smiles to myself at happiness, until I see what they're so amused by. Where Jordan is usually sitting is an adult chair is squeezed in, holding an animatedly talking who is alternating her gaze between Michael and Layla and a grinning Jordan on her left. I notice that her left hand is in his lap, which he is tugging at and bending her fingers like he does with my hand. Bella's other hand is in front of her, fluttering about as she explains whatever story she's telling.

I glance up to see the adult side of the table, who are all trying not to look like they aren't staring at me.

Emmett smiles unashamedly when I meet his gaze and I can't help but smile back at his childish glee. I almost can hear a collective sigh of relief through that side of the table.

I glance at Rosalie, who's seemingly in an even bitchier mood than usual, impatiently twitching about. Next to her, James leers at Bella and I want to rip his dick off. He's married to my sister, the fucking creep.

Angela is trying to pretend like she's listening to Bella's story, but her flicker to me every two seconds. I wave at her sarcastically and on her next turn up she blushes.

Alec and Jane are arguing like their children, Alec rolling his eyes and Jena theatrically tossing her short hair behind her. I've seen Jonny and Jenna imitate their moves to perfection.

Alice next to them isn't even trying to hide her staring. Mommy-Alice is gone, as is Serious-Sister-Alice. Fun-Childish-Alice is back, I observe as she frantically waves at me. She's bouncing in her seat like she drank an oversized Redbull. Fucking spaz.

I chuckle at her and move my gaze to the kitchen entryway, where I'm sure my mother is about to come through with the pasta.

I meet my dad's eye again and he's smiling at me. Taking that as approval, I slowly make my way to my seat, still under my family's watchful gaze.

As I get closer, everyone gets quieter, like a knob on a radio being twisted down.

Bella sees me first out go her mini audience and trails off, staring. I try my hardest not to growl at her or glare until she cowers, so I just flip my hair in front of my right cheek as I approach.

The kids, I see, catch on to her distraction and look up to me.

My heart speeds up in happiness when Layla smiles wide and declares "Uncle Edward!" excitedly. But my heart slowly comes to a stop when I see her eyes dim and look away in remembrance.

My steps falter and I nearly fall before catching myself.

I scurry to my seat and use my hair as a curtain, feeling everyone's gaze on me. The table is silent.

"Who's hungry?" my mother calls, sauntering in with a giant pot of noodles. She's greeted by awkward silence. After plopping the pot down on the table, she stands up straight, putting her mitted hands on her hips. "Nobody? Alright, so who wants to help clean up, then?" she squints her eyes at everyone.

"Hi, honey," she looks to me, sparing a quick smile.

Michael speaks up, "I'm hungry, Nana!"

"Me too, Nana, me too!" Jonny copies, as always, looking left to Michael to make sure he notices.

"Yeah, I'm _starving_." Layla giggles, looking up to Bella. I wasn't aware Layla even knew what that word meant; I've never heard it before from her.

Chuckling, Bella agrees, "Yeah, Esme, we're _famished_!" her musical voice fades to giggles with Layla. Michael looks on affectionately.

"I'm famished, too." Jordan mumbles. Since everything is so quiet, even Alice hears from across the table.

"Well, Esme, I guess we're all on the verge of malnourishment here!" she giggles to defuse the tangible tension.

My mother grins, "In that case, I guess we'd better all have dessert, too!"

Not a millisecond passes until Rosalie speaks up, "Esme, if I don't get food in my stomach right now, I'm going to fu—" Emmett's paw covers her mouth before she can go off.

Esme sighs and leans over to plop a helping serving of noodles in the bowl in front of my sister-in-law. "An appetizer." She rolls her eyes and returns the serving spoon to the pot on the table.

"I'll be right back with the sauce," she announces, winking at me. She knows her sauce is my absolute favorite thing ever. "Alice, be a doll and pass out a helping of pasta to everyone, will you?" she says, disappearing into the kitchen.

My eyes flick to Jordan next to me, ignoring Alice's chatter as she distributes the noodles. He is looking straight at me unabashedly.

"Hey, Jordan," I hedge, watching him closely.

He smiles a little bit and I notice him grasp Bella's hand firmly in his lap. Occupied with Layla and Michael a second before, she whips around at his silent call and regards the situation.

I'm silent under her gaze before choking out a "Hello," in her direction.

"Hi," her sweet voice sooths me unintentionally. I find myself hoping she'll say something else to confirm. As if reading my mind, she continues, "Thank you for having me here," she appraises my reaction. When I do nothing but look back semi-blankly, she continues, "You have no idea how grateful I am that you've allowed me to stay. You have a beautiful home." It doesn't escape my notice that she is acknowledging my place as master of the house. It calms me even more.

I nod back. "You're welcome. I hope everyone's treating you well." It is against every nerve in my body to be this civil, this weak. I barely hear her acceptance next because I'm so hypnotized by my own inner musings. And the way her voice sooths me doesn't help much either.

Her long brown hair is pulled back in some sort of pony tail braid thing that shows off the details and definition of her face that I had overlooked earlier.

Her face is white like snow and oddly clear for a teenager. I remember my face being like a pizza in my brief stage of awkward puberty at sixteen. Then, of course, I somehow went straight to drop-dead sexy man. The only good gene I inherited from my birth father, I guess.

I also remember being awkward and unsure of myself for a good 6 years under the surface.

Bella seems anything but awkward, skinny, or unsure. Her face doesn't look too big for her body like I always thought mine had looked. From what I can see, she isn't extraordinarily gangly—the hand in front of her is fleshy, and it leads to a nice toned arm that leads to an inappropriately low neckline that has the dual effect of making me sweat at the hint of breast and vomit from being such a pervert.

My eyes flutter up to her face and I notice that she's blushing and looking at me expectantly. Uh-oh. Had I been caught?

"What?" I stutter, after clearing my throat and blushing slightly myself. I sit up straighter and point my chin up an inch or so, widening my eyes to appear innocent. I had to regain my pride somehow. Caught ogling 16 year olds boobs? Awesome.

"Everyone's been very welcoming, thank you," she repeats, her voice smaller. I catch the lie plain as day but don't call her out on it. Honestly, I don't care.

"Glad to hear it," I reply, breaking my eyes from the direction of her southening blush and looking to Jordan. Somehow our plates are already filled with spaghetti and sauce with meatballs and even garlic bread. When did that happen?

Jordan blinks up at me and attempts a smile. I give him my usual grin back, yelling in my head to stay calm and not do a hope-y dance at his gesture. He looks down at his food and begins to eat. Pasta's his favorite dish, too.

I look to Layla and Michael. Layla's trying to talk to her mom through mouthfuls of spaghetti which will be a bitch to clean off her light colored tee shirt later, I'm sure. Michael's eyes are fixed on me. When I catch his gaze, I try to smile but he breaks the contact to pointedly look at Bella and then back at me, raising his eyebrows and grinning mischievously. It's hard for me to believe he's not Alice's kid. I mouth "what" and stuck out my tongue at him playfully. He smiles genuinely—making my heart sing—and begins to eat.

After a ridiculous 4 helpings of absolutely orgasmic pasta—beating Emmett and Rosalie's three—I lay back in my tall seat and rest my hands over my bloated stomach.

"Mom, that has be have been the best spaghetti I've ever had," I admit, calling to her across the table.

She raises her eyebrows. As if she's surprised.

I nod enthusiastically. I could eat it forever. Every time is somehow better than the last.

Bella's blush and smile catches my eye and I look at her questioningly.

"Bella made it!" Alice explains, "It's her birthday, so she got to pick the meal and she insisted on showing mom the way she made pasta for her dad!" she smiles, immune to Bella's quick glare.

Bella opens her mouth but I interrupt.

"It's your birthday? Today?" I ask, noticing her continuous glare in Alice's direction.

"Yes, but it's really not a big deal," she mutters, now eying her lap.

And now I feel like an even bigger asshole. Her dad died and she was made homeless and I freaked out on her on her fucking birthday. I didn't think it was possible to feel more guilty than I did before, but I was wrong.

"Of course it is, Bella! You're sixteen! Don't try to downplay it!" Alice exclaims. Hearing her say that out loud doesn't make me feel any better at the way her low neckline makes me feel. I blame it on the fact that I haven't had sex since I was 21.

Bella rolls her eyes at my sister's dramatics. I smile at that.

"Uncle Edward," Layla says from her seat, pulling out of my inappropriate Bella-trance.

"Yes, sweetie?" I smile encouragingly.

"Bella and I match, see?" she points to her yellow shirt and then to Bella's tight yellow gown that I'm sure Alice picked out.

"Yes, you do. And you both look beautiful," I admit, not even sparing a glance at Bella, who I feel blushing next to my niece.

"Thank you," Bella whispers, slightly drowned out by Layla's peppy "thanks!"

"Who wants dessert?" my mother sings.

"Me!" Layla claps, making her brother smirk crookedly, an unintentional trait he picked up from me since he was Cate's age.

"Did Bella make it?" Emmett booms obnoxiously, winking at her obviously.

"No, Layla did!" Esme announces, earning a wide smile from her granddaughter.

"Uh-oh," mutters Jonny warily, "I hope it's not like last time," he whines.

I try not to laugh at the memory of Layla's attempt at a mud pie dessert a few months ago.

She points at my expression and I try to control my face as to not push her buttons. I still am not completely back on her good side, yet, so I shouldn't feel entitled to poke fun.

"It's _cake_," she emphasizes.

Emmett smiles widely. He unsurprisingly actually tried her mud pie creation. Fucking idiot. "I love cake! Is it chocolate?" he claps excitedly. He'd eat anything.

Rosalie tries to look disgusted by his appetite, but I know she'll have a few slices herself. Pregnancy makes her one hungry bitch.

Esme carries out the tall cake and a stack of small paper plates.

"In honor of Bella's 16th birthday," Angela stands up, earning a glare from James. Dick. "Layla and I baked a cake earlier." She walks over to Layla's chair and plucks her up from it, walking her to my mother who is cutting and distributing the chocolate-vanilla swirl cake and putting pieces on plates. She hands a stack of forks to Layla and two plates to Angela to distribute. Bella is furiously blushing and appears on the verge on tears, I notice.

"Hey," I mutter to her, earning another questioning glance from Michael which I ignore. "Are you gonna cry?" I hedge. A woman crying has to be, besides my birth father, my least favorite thing in the world.

She sniffles. "No, I'm just a bit overwhelmed. Sorry." I'm kind of taken aback by her apology. Her left hand, long gone from my godson's lap, wipes her face for invisible tears. "Nobody but my dad has ever done anything for me for my birthday before; ever. It's just kind of new," she admits.

What can I do? God, I must be able to redeem myself somehow. I'm already the biggest asshole on the face of the earth.

"Should I make them stop?" I offer, "Is this making you uncomfortable?" I could at least be a decent host, right? I could always sneak into the kitchen and eat the cake before Emmett gets to it later.

She doesn't hide her confusion or shock at my new antics.

"No, of course not," she hesitantly explained, as if expecting an outburst. I tried not to give her one. "I'm not trying to be rude; I'm just a bit shocked. Sorry." She apologizes again.

"Stop apologizing." I command, immediately regretting my harsh tone. "Sorry," I mutter.

I hear Jordan's giggle, one of my top 5 favorite sounds in the world.

My eyes flick to him and his gleeful face. "Silly," he whispers, alternating his sweet gaze between me and Bella. She smiles too, beautifully, and much to my surprise, she leans down to kiss the top of his head, then whispers in his ear.

As she's talking to him, Jordan's eyes study me, leading me to believe that what Bella's saying is about me. I'm not sure how exactly that makes me feel, but I do try to determine.

When she leans away and starts whispering to Michael over Layla's empty spot, I get really apprehensive.

"Uncle Edward," Jordan's voice brings me out of my inner thoughts.

"Huh? What, buddy?" I ask, looking down at his sweet face.

He holds his arms up in a "hold me" motion and my heart soars as I pick him up and plop him theatrically in my lap. I try not to smile too ridiculously wide or hold him too tight in my arms as to not alarm him. He probably weighs as much as my arm.

He pulls my hair so I tilt my head down to his mouth. I'm so excited at how calm and comfortable he's being that I might explode.

"Promise not to be mad?" he softly asks in my ear. I'm quick to nod.

"I promise, Jordan. What is it?" I try to smother my insecurity at the possibility that I might break the promise.

He's quiet for a few minutes and I start to worry, though I hold back the urge to prompt him.

"I'm sorry for hitting you," he whispers brokenly.

I wish I could tell him that it's okay, and I forgive him, though I don't think he's wrong in any way, but I can't spit the words out fast enough.

Jordan continues in my ear, absentmindedly feeling my hair. "And I still love you. I just wish you didn't get so mad all the time."

I feel more tears in my eyes, in spite of my earlier pussy breakdown. I force the girly tears back, trying my absolute hardest not to replace them with anger like I usually do so easily.

I sigh loudly, my eyes still closed.

"Jordan," I squeak, rubbing his back in circles with my right hand. I clear my throat to try and retain some masculinity.

"Jordan," I try again, satisfied with my scruffier voice. "I'm sorry I've been so mean today. I really don't mean for you to see any of it. I'm sorry. You really didn't do anything wrong at all. And I forgive you for hitting me, though I understand why you did it. I—" I attempt to return his l-word proclamation, but the words get stuck in my throat. "I'm sorry," I alter, wishing more than anything that I could tell him those 3 words.

"But," Jordan says, his little voice so tired and sad, "I don't want you to yell at Mommy or Bella either. Even if I don't hear you do it. It makes Mommy sad and I love her too, so I don't want her to be sad," he starts to cry softly and I feel him use my long hair as his crutch, rubbing a lock of it on his cheek back and forth and crying quietly, lightly.

I try my absolute hardest to not lose it. It's my first instinct to jump up, tossing him to the floor, punch the wall, throw shit around, and pour myself a drink upstairs, chain smoking and getting drunk until I fall into a dreamless 14 hour sleep.

My father tells me I'm not very good at dealing with my emotions.

"Jordan, I'm trying, buddy. I'm really trying," I choke out, repeating a not-so-calming "calm the fuck down, Edward," mantra in my head.

I'm just about to give up on myself and place him on the ground to run upstairs when I feel a tap on my arm, bringing me back to the present.

When my eyes snap open at the contact, I suddenly realize that I'm still at the table. Sometime when Jordan and I were talking, everyone had left and the table had been cleared. Had I missed cake? Fuck.

I also notice that the only people still in the room are Michael, Layla and Bella. My father is watching the exchange silently from the living room entrance, Dr. Cullen face on.

Michael, I notice, is the arm-tapping culprit. I feel Jordan start to move away, but I hold him in my lap securely, not ready to let him go quite yet. He gives up, realizing selflessly what I need, and lays back against my chest.

"Uncle Edward," Michael says, looking more like a wary adult than I feel. His navy tee shirt and jeans match my navy suit getup I notice. Alice.

"Yeah, Michael?" I look at him in the eyes and he stares back.

I'm expecting him to say something along the lines of "why are you so mean" or "I hate you" or even "I forgive you", but he surprises me.

"You're a sad man, Uncle Edward. And you're mean sometimes because you're so sad. And that's why you drink too, I think. I understand that you're sad, but you hurt people because of it." He pauses for a breath, still gripping my arm, eyes locked on mine. "I love you and I hope you stop being so sad so you can love us too." He states, tapping my arm and stepping back, unaware of the giant break in my heart.

I see more of his Uncle Jasper, his real father figure, in him every day, even though they haven't even seen each other in years.

I look up to see Bella is Jordan's chair with Layla on her lap. My goddaughter is sucking on her thumb like she only does in very tense situations Bella's eyes never leave my face. When had everyone moved?

Layla blinks a few times in the silence, and then removes her thumb with a pop.

"You scare me sometimes, Uncle Edward," she whispers, looking down at her lap. Bella runs her fingers through her blond locks soothingly.

I nod in acknowledgement shamefully at her declaration and I feel like my stomach's in my throat. I knew I shouldn't have had that fourth helping.

"But," she continues, "I love you still, you're still my favorite," she declares, smiling up to me through her eyelashes.

I again wish more than anything that I had the ability to return those words to her. "I'm sorry, Layla," I choke out instead.

"Bella," I initiate, looking up to meet her wide brown eyes. She nods.

"I'm sorry for being so inhospitable towards you earlier," I say honestly, trying to ignore the extremely uneasy feeling at my vulnerability. "I see that the kids really like you and I appreciate your kindness towards them. So I thank you for that. And I sincerely hope you feel welcome in my home." I state. The manners my mother brought me up with haven't gone completely to waste.

My father, I notice, who has been standing and judging the discussion, nods in my direction and walks to the stairs.

"Thank you, E—" she starts, but stops before finishing my name. "Thank you," she revises. "And I'm sorry for not speaking to you before coming in to your house" she wraps her arms around Layla's waist absentmindedly. "I know that wasn't right, but I am very thankful for your hospitality," her voice almost lulls me out of the conversation. She continues, "and I understand why you were so mad and don't blame you one bit." She says strongly. Her declaration shocks me. She understands? Doesn't blame me? If Carlisle hadn't left, he'd have her mentally evaluated.

I blink, unsure how to respond. I imagine for a split second some crazy hypothetical make up sex right on the dining table, before remembering our 3-child audience and the kid on my lap. Oh, and her age; just a few hours out of fucking 15.

I readjust Jordan's position as I formulate a response for Bella. "Oh," is all I can come up with. "Okay," I elaborate, begging my brain to come up with something so I don't come across as a retard or a mute. "You can call me Edward if you want, Bella. You don't need my permission to call me by my name," I skip over the dirty thoughts in my head at what she could call me and store them for later, "You'll probably be seeing a lot more of me around here."

She smiles slightly, "Alright, Edward," her voice around my name should be illegal. Maybe I shouldn't have let her call me by my name. It only leads me to thoughts of what that same mouth that speaks my name like an angel would feel like around my…

"Uncle Edward," my thoughts are cockblocked by Jordan's sweet plead. I realize my hands are squeezing him in a death grip.

"Sorry, buddy," I mutter, shaking my head to try to get control of myself. He leans back against my chest again after I relax.

"Can me and Bella brush your hair, Uncle Edward? Jenna got to brush Bella's earlier." Layla bounces in Bella's lap.

"Sweetheart, I don't think—" Bella starts.

"Actually, I have to—" I begin at the same time.

We both stop with sheepish expressions.

I resume after a beat of silence. "Layla, I have a ton of work to do tonight, but maybe you can mess with it in the morning," I allow, lying about the work. If jacking off is considered work, I'll actually be working very hard. "If your mom lets you," I add as an afterthought, feeling some sadness at the realization that Alice and Angela have yet to forgive me, though their kids seem to have.

"You don't work." Layla points out.

I sigh, but Bella intercepts before I can mumble out another excuse.

"Layla, do you want to brush my hair maybe? I usually brush it right before bed and I have a hard time reaching the back sometimes…" she accepts my thankful smile and looks down to Layla for a response.

She nods excitedly and hops down from Bella's lap. "Now? It's almost my bedtime!" she bounces on the heels of her feet in front of Bella, who stands up too.

Jordan silently looks from me to Bella, signaling a proposed change of hands.

Bella catches on and pries him from my lap. I desperately try to control my thoughts, but with her so—literally—in my face, I easily fail.

"Well," Bella says awkwardly after standing back up straight, Jordan on her left hip and Layla grasping her right hand and trying to pull her toward the stairs.

I look up at her blushing face. Had I been caught again? God, I'm such a pervert. At least she didn't look disturbed.

"Yeah, well," I stutter out. My energy is officially shot for the day. I'm too exhausted to continue awkward formal conversation. Politeness has never been quite my forte anyway.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Edward," she says. For a split second, Jordan isn't in her arms, Layla isn't at her side and Michael isn't staring daggers into me from a couple of feet away. Also, she's lost the dress, her hair's down…

Oh right. In the company of children.

I swallow hard.

"Goodnight, Bella," I hypnotically say. I swear I see her smirk through her intense blush.

"'Night, Uncle Edward!" Layla calls as she pulls Bella and Jordan away. They're out of sight before I can reply.

I close my eyes and cross my arms on the table in front of me, resting my head on top. My hair curtains my face.

The seat to my immediate left, Emmett's seat, is now holding Michael, I sense. I look up.

Yup, I'm right.

"Hi," I offer, clearing my gravelly voice.

"Hi," he replies.

We're silent for a few minutes. I hear squealing and yelling from upstairs; most likely Rosalie bitching at Emmett or Jane bitching at everyone. Damn savages.

"You were acting pretty weird around Bella just now," he observes in a suspiciously conversational tone.

"I haven't seen anyone outside of this house since you were nearly Jordan's age," I retort, moving my right palm up to cradle my head, my elbow sitting on the tabletop. I watch my godson as he thoughtfully watches me.

"Adults get married," he thinks out loud, "You're an adult. You're not married. You want to marry Bella because she's the only girl you know." Michael states instead of asks, a trait he unknowingly picked up from his own father, James.

I sigh loudly, trying to swallow down my temper.

"No, Michael. You have no idea what you're talking about—" I spit without much thought. Thankfully I'm interrupted by Michael's father's snakey hiss.

"Son. Son." He calls, walking into the dining room, followed closely by a harried-looking Angela and a sobbing Layla. James approaches Michael, who immediately stands up straight and places a hand on my shoulder. It seems like more of a move searching for defense but my attention is currently otherwise diverted.

"Hey, honey," I coo to Layla who's now next to me, red in the face and cheeks tear-stained. I pick her up as I rise, Michael's grip transferring to my coattail.

Layla throws her arms around my neck and holds on for dear life, burying her wet face in my shoulder. I throw my right arm around her and my left casually over Michael's shoulder.

James crosses his arms and looks at Angela, as if his daughter's crying would be his fault.

"Michael, your mother and sister and you are staying with me tonight. You two have to get to bed early tonight so we're leaving. Now," he pronounces, glaring down at his son. My teeth are on edge.

I look up to Angela, who's avoiding my gaze.

"I d-don't wa-na-na goooo!" Layla sobs, grasp tightening on my neck and legs locking on my chest. "Uncle Edward pleeeeeeeease!" she begs.

I sigh deeply. James' crazy stare is looking me straight-on, and while I'm easily bigger than he is, he's got the authority regarding his children, I force myself to admit. I just stare back at him.

"Where's Bella, Layla?" I ask her tearing my eyes from my brother-in-law's.

She doesn't let up her sobbing. "I didn't get to brush her ha-a-a-a-air!" she wails.

So that's why she's so upset. Kids.

"Angela," address, trying to avoid unnecessary direct interaction with James, "I'll walk with you guys to the cabin." Her eyes flurry to James and me quickly, before they settle on him. After a moment of silence, I prompt her response. "Okay?"

James grunts. "Fine."

He holds his hand out for Michael to take, which he just stares at.

Before James can force his son's touch, I interject. "I asked Angela." I emphasize.

James, sufficiently distracted, narrows his eyes at me.

"Angela," he snarls to her.

She flushes red adverting her eyes to the ground. "Sure," she stutters out.

I ignore the weirdness, tucking it into the back of my head to mull over later.

Layla now near moaning in my arms cries harder. "Uncle Edward," she gasps out, "I don't wanna go with Dada, I wanna stay here with you and Bella and Momma and Aunt Alice!" she whines.

Hearing her cry makes me physically want to throw up. I jiggle her on my hip to try to soothe her and use my left hard to run my fingers through my godson's hair. I take a deep breath and compose myself.

"Well," I announce, "what are we waiting for? Let's go."

James snarls and throws his arm around my sister, hissing like a snake and turning to walk through the sliding glass doors of the kitchen.

Michael and I hesitate a second before following, Layla continuing to cry. I can tell she's tiring out though.

We make our way through the empty kitchen, uncleaned, and out into the cold starry night. Michael closes the door behind us.

Angela and James are a couple of yards ahead and I can hear the hum of their conversation so I decide it's safe for me to speak freely with the kids.

"Layla," I start my left hand now free so I can rub her back as I walk, in line with her brother next to me.

She sniffles and rubs my hair in response.

I continue, "Sweetheart, you have to stop crying. Your dad gets upset when you don't want to be with him. He's your father, honey; you have to see him sometimes." James is nowhere near as bad of a father as mine was.

"Why don't you want to stay with him, Layla?" I ask.

"I wanted to stay with Bella tonight," she says softly, crying fit over. We're nearly to the cabin.

"Michael?" I ask.

"He's not nice like my mom. He's mean to her and us. And gets mad like you do sometimes, but different" he stops talking abruptly, like he said something wrong.

I stop walking and he mimics me.

"Michael." I adjust Layla onto my other hip, her death grip on my neck loosened. He avoids my gaze.

"Look at my eyes." I command, crouching down to my knee and setting Layla on her feet. My legs throb from my extensive run this morning. I knew I'd regret it. I need a drink.

Michael slowly forces himself to comply.

"What do you mean he 'but different'?" I growl.

"HEY!" I hear James yell from ahead. "What the fuck are you guys doing? Edward, bring me my fucking kids!" he hollers from the porch of his cabin.

I sigh and straighten back up, taking Layla's hand in my right and Michael's in my left. "We're talking about this tomorrow, Michael." I promise.

We walk the rest of the way to the cabin in silence.

Once we're near the front porch, I notice James isn't there and Angela's watching us approach. As we get even closer, I notice that she's trying to stop crying.

Apparently I'm not the only one who notices.

Michael stiffens at my side and his grasp tightens on my hand. Stiffening when stressed is a habit he's picked up from me.

Layla detaches from my hand and runs up to her mother. "Momma, why are you crying? Uncle Edward says no crying!"

Angela wipes at her face and crouches down to accept her daughter's hug.

"Sorry, honey," se sniffles and straightens back up.

Michael has stopped walking and is still holding my hand entirely too tightly. I look down and see his eyes staring straight ahead at her.

The look strikes me as eerily familiar and I feel myself start to sweat, but I can't place where I'm remembering it from or why it's bothering me so much.

I shake the and he's holding to try to break him from his trance and he blinks and shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts.

"Edward," Angela calls from the porch, a few yards away from her son and me. She continues, "thank you for walking them over. We'll see you in the morning." She wipes her face again and pushes Layla back towards the open front door.

"Michael, say goodbye to Uncle Edward and come inside," she commands and leads her daughter inside .Her voice shakes.

Michael shivers violently in the cool air; too violently to attribute to the weather. "Goodnight, Uncle Edward," he says, not letting go of my hand, or turning to face me, or moving towards the house.

I lightly shove him towards the stairs of the porch. He stumbles before catching himself and walking up the stairs and to the door.

"Goodnight, Michael. See you in the morning, alright? Come find me as soon as you get home." I say, crossing my arms across my chest. The suit is still suffocating me; now possibly even more than before. I know better than to deny Alice though.

"I love you, Uncle Edward," he states and closes the cabin door with a soft thud.

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

I lay in bed an hour later, clean, in my sweatpants, my throat hot from the scotch I just downed, and ridiculously exhausted.

Where had I seen that distant look Michael had on earlier? The scared, defensive yet defenseless, alone, kind of angry and coated in sad… I feel a dreaded sense of deja-vu just trying to remember.

Layla and Michael's reaction to their father to start with is off in itself. It is really common to be so wary of your own parents like they are of their father?

Maybe they just feel distant from him because they don't get to interact with them often.

Well, I counteract myself; they absolutely love Jasper who they haven't even spoken to in years.

I've never known James to be particularly violent—aside from hunting—so it's not like he could be hitting them or anything.

He apparently, according to Michael, gets angry sometimes. I don't have enough details quite yet to come to any definite conclusions about that.

James is territorial and dominant, I know, but so am I. And I'm Layla's "favorite"…

"Bella! Bella! Where aaaaare you?" I hear Alice call. "Bella!"

It's not even 10pm so it's unsurprising that Alice is still up, but can't she have some fucking courtesy? For the kids at least? They're long since asleep.

Groaning as I rise, I stumble towards the door. I couldn't be that drunk, could I?

"Bellaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Alice continues to call.

I throw open my door and come face to face with my sister.

"Hi, Edward! Where's B?" she chirps, as if I would fucking know.

"Leave her alone and lower your damn voice, Alice! The kids are sleeping and I'm trying to also! Bella's probably asleep too! Calm down!" I run my fingers through my hair and breathe out.

"Ew, Edward, you reek of scotch!" she scrunches her nose at me.

At that second, me leaning on my doorframe and Alice across from my face with a sour expression in the middle of the hallway, Bella emerges from her bedroom to the very left.

"Alice?" she whispers, rubbing at her eyes.

Her hair is long down her back and shiny from being brushed. Her nightgown reaches just above her knees and is ridiculously too tight; she's probably borrowing Alice's. Her feet are bare and I notice her toes are painted a very sexy dark red. I feel myself go light-headed as all the blood in my body rushes from one head to the other.

I throw my clumsy hands into my flimsy sweat pants pockets trying to conceal my new problem just as she turns her head and spots us.

"Hi, Alice, Edward," she greets, walking forward. "Were you calling me, Alice? I was sleeping." She yawns as she approaches.

Why don't women wear bras to bed? Why?

I swallow thickly and notice with a cocky smirk that her gaze hasn't left my body.

I don't ever wear shirts to bed, so my bare chest is obviously on display. I flex my straightened arms and my abs nonchalantly.

Her gaze lowers to my plain sweatpants and the not-so-smooth placement of my hands. Now it's her turn to blush and swallow thickly.

I notice, as she moves her hands up to cross her arms over her chest, what's she's trying to hide as well and smirk at her in spite of my own obvious arousal.

When she catches my expression she blushes even deeper and averts her eyes to Alice who clears her throat and is probably giving Bella a raised eyebrow look.

I don't look away from Bella's delicious lip-biting for long enough to check.

"Yes, Bella, I was calling you," Alice says slowly, "but we can just talk tomorrow…" she backs away into her own room. "'Night, guys!" she shuts her door with a light slam, leaving us standing outside my door, a bit awkwardly.

"Well, I'm just going to go back to bed…" Bella mutters, unmoving and still trying to slyly check me out.

"Mhm," I keep staring at her unabashedly, enjoying her squirm a little too much. I can't help but imagine how else I could make her squirm…

I know my eyes must be black.

A bit drunk, I mentally allow, I get cocky and remove my hands from my pockets and cross them over my chest, flexing my arms and letting my tent sport itself proudly now that my sister's out of view. I'm not quite THAT drunk.

I smirk wider at her gasp and furious lip-abuse. Even though it's been years since I used my charm on a chick, I still got it. I guess it's like riding a bike.

"Sweet dreams, Isabella," I say, my voice low and scratchy. Another thing I know for a fact drives girls wild. The things I retain from my womanizing days!

"Yeah," she squeaks and tears her eyes back up to my face. "Goodnight, Edward!" she turns and nearly sprints back into her room. Well, the guest room.

She's got a great ass; especially in that tight, thin nightgown.

I turn around after she's back in the bedroom and close my door too, not twisting the lock so Layla and Michael could enter in the morning if they're here before I'm up.

I lay in bed for the second time tonight and reach for the keys on my nightstand, unlocking my special drawer…

* * *

><p><strong>Tell me you loved it.<br>TELL ME!  
>So I have a reason to wake up tomorrow and not sleep all fucking day long!<br>Constructive criticism is always appreciated!**

**(And bonus points to anyone who can tell me if anonymous reviews are enabled on this story!)**

**Goodnight!**

**& to everyone who asked me to post again today I hope this is the best chapter you've ever read because I'm on the verge of death for you. My hands are about to fell asleep, my contacts feel dried into my eyeballs, and I smell like cat fart.**

**You're welcome.  
><strong>


End file.
